


The Hitchhiker

by Pimento



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe- No Supernatural, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Caring Dean, Destiel - Freeform, Hurt Castiel, Hurt/Comfort, I suck at tagging, M/M, Protective Dean Winchester, Sassy Castiel, Slow Build Castiel/Dean Winchester, Some Sex, Supportive Sam, Thriller, castiel is not a wuss, well it's supposed to be a thriller
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-25
Updated: 2018-09-10
Packaged: 2018-09-19 18:35:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 36
Words: 123,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9455252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pimento/pseuds/Pimento
Summary: Dean Winchester is perfectly happy with his loner lifestyle, drifting from town to town, hustling and picking up odd jobs.  At least that’s what he tells himself.  Keeping careful tabs on his successful and settled younger brother Sammy from a safe distance.  Far enough away that he can do him and his growing family unit no harm.Fate, of course, throws a gorgeous dark-haired man running from his own family into his path and Dean, no stranger to his own troubles, finds himself sucked into a high powered game of cat and mouse, with the deadliest stakes.





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [](http://imgur.com/9jKP5IO)   
> 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for the Supernatural AU Big Bang on tumblr...
> 
> http://spn-au-big-bang.tumblr.com/
> 
> The gorgeous artworks are by http://peanutbutterthenjelly.tumblr.com/ so please take the time to tell her how lovely they are. I'm not sure she didn't use a tin-opener on my cranium, as they are just what I pictured as I was writing...
> 
> Thank you to my betas (and occasional cheerleaders) SupernaturalMystery306, aka Stardustandfreckles on tumblr and Hermit9. The mistakes are all mine, but there's a lot less of them thanks to these guys!
> 
> This is by far the longest work I have ever written. It was originally supposed to be 15k but it sort of developed a life of it's own. I just hope someone, somewhere will enjoy reading it!
> 
> I do, of course, live for comments and affirmation, so please take a second to leave your "s'all right, I s'pose" or "I enjoyed it, but you rambled a bit." at the end. I'll love you forever. Especially if you notice any plot holes, inconsistencies or typos... :-D
> 
> Thanks for reading.

 

** CHAPTER ONE **

 

The rain had been falling so hard and for so long that it seemed to have soaked into everything.  The landscape was heavy with it.  The branches of the spruce along the roadside were drooping, and sounds were muffled in the damp oppression of the air.   The windshield ran with water, it bulged ahead of the wiper blade like a tiny tsunami, pushed across the glass.

The inside of the car was warm, heat blasting from the vents, fighting a constant battle against the misting humidity of the air. Headlights reflected back the droplets as they fell from the sky and danced back up off the slick road. It was only 5pm, but the combination of storm laden cloud and northerly latitude contributed to a darkness that spoke more of night than twilight.

Dean rolled his neck, and stretched his shoulders without ever once relinquishing his relaxed grip on the wheel.  He yawned and glanced across at the road map.  Another couple of hours and he could look for a place to stay, maybe find himself a road house and some easy company, either from a bottle or not, as the case may be. He rubbed at the bruise on his stubbled chin.  

“Must be gettin’ old,” he said aloud to the empty car.  A few years ago and even with three against one, he would’ve easily dodged the punch, instead of spiraling to the ground outside a dive bar.

He hadn’t needed the sheriff to escort him over the town boundary, he was leaving anyway; goodbyes said, fresh laundry packed away in his duffel, fuel tank full, his meagre belongings already carefully stowed into the trunk.  It was best when you made your living doing casual work and hustling, never outstaying your welcome. He had to admit, he’d reached the limit of goodwill in that particular town.

The guitar riff died away on the last track and the tape deck clicked and auto-ejected the cassette.  He’d never felt the need to replace the old cassette player with a more modern stereo.  His music collection remained frozen, a snapshot of happier times, when he was still part of a family.

He grabbed the box with a practiced hand, but his knuckles were stiff and sore from the fight, so he fumbled and dropped the mix tape.  It hit the leather bench seat and bounced awkwardly somewhere under his feet.  “Son of a bitch!”  he snapped at himself, looking down and momentarily distracted.

“Fuck!”  He was on the brakes, the heavy car slewing through the slick surface water, the vivid impression of a figure, face turned into the headlights, eyes and mouth wide o’s of shock and horror emblazoned in his brain.  He wrestled the wheel, adrenaline, reflexes and his instinctive ability to read every minute twitch and nuance of his car, letting him pull out of the skid and draw to a standstill on the side of the road.

He let the engine idle, and seeing nothing in his rear view mirror, undid his seatbelt and turned his upper body back to look through the back window.  All he could see was a few feet of road and barrier highlighted red by his brake lights and beyond that the darkness and the subtle variation of colour between the treeline and the sky in the distance.   “Son of a bitch,” he muttered again under his breath.  His heart pounding, he breathed deeply.  He hadn’t hit the man, but he had disappeared.  He shrugged.  It was none of his damn business what he was doing tramping down the side of the road in the middle of nowhere, in the pouring rain, but it could have cost them both… big time.

The box of tapes had been thrown into the footwell, but miraculously stayed upright, so tightly packed that they were all still in place.  He scooped it up and fumbled under his feet for his favourite mix and swapped cassettes, pushing the box back into it’s home under the dash.

He looked back again, but there was still no sign of anyone.  Rolling his eyes with impatience, he grimaced.  Every instinct told him to drive on.  Not his problem.  

“Dammit!”  He pulled the gear stick back and dropped her into reverse.

He stopped when he saw the tell tale black rubber streaks of his own skid, gouged deep into the flat top, glistening back at him in the headlights. Maybe the guy had run off, spooked.  

He cut the engine and opened his door.   The only noise was the steady sound of a running stream somewhere nearby, the soft ping of the cooling car and the patter of the rain, which continued to fall with that curious gentle weight that real heavy rain possesses.  

Tendrils of steam rose from the hot hood as the water evaporated from the gleaming paintwork.  He was about to get back into the car, when he heard a splash, louder than than the steady flow, somewhere in the gloom beyond the roadside barrier.

“Hello?” he called, and walked to the edge of the roadway.  

The ground dropped away from the road edge behind the barrier,  presumably there to protect the unwitting motorist from careening down into the dip, before rising back up sharply into the bank of trees.   

He peered into the gloom, and could just make out the figure of a man slumped against the bank, just above the line of water flowing down the gully.  The man was trying to scale the bank, but each time he moved he slipped towards the torrent, feet dropping into the current with a splash as he sought purchase on the edge.

“Shit,” he muttered under his breath, scanning about him.  If this guy fell into that fast flowing water, he was a goner.  “Just stay there,” he shouted, “I’ll go grab something to get you out.”

The man looked up.  “It’s not like I can go anywhere,”  the voice was unexpectedly deep and gravelly.

\---

Cas clung, white-knuckled to a root, feeling it beginning to loosen and give under his weight, he pushed himself flatter against the muddy grit of the slope.  Something smacked against his shoulder and then thudded down his back, before dropping alongside him and he grabbed at it.

His hands slipped down, and he felt the texture of rope as it burned into his palms.  He swung away from the bank, his feet and lower legs sucked along the gully by the pressure of the water.  Ignoring the pain in his hands, he used his upper body strength to haul himself up, and managed to brace his legs against the bank, wrapping the rope around his back and leaning into it.  He paused, breathing heavily.

“Are you ready?” he heard the call and looked up again, the man loomed above him, silhouetted against the lights of a car.  “I’ll start to pull you up.”  

His feet still slipping he walked gradually up the bank, until strong arms gripped his and with one last heave he slid over the barrier, and they collapsed into a heap on the roadside, both panting heavily, the rain pattering loudly on his back.

“Do you think, you could… erm…”  the man was trying to move underneath him.

“Sorry,”  he realised he was still lying heavily across his rescuer.  He lifted himself gingerly, untangling himself from long denim clad legs.  

The rain dripped from his hair down his nose.  He sat back, on his heels, as the other man stood up.  He squinted against the brightness of the light from the headlights, still unable to make out any features, beyond height… and bowed legs...did he get rickets as a kid?

“I’m sorry, man.  I didn’t see you, with the rain and the dark clothing…”

“It’s also far easier to see what’s in front of your car when you look through the windshield,”  the words had escaped his mouth without check from his brain, but ‘the dark clothing!’ Victim shaming or what?  He realised how rude he sounded and bit the inside of his cheek.  The guy had at least come back.

The man huffed, it might have been a laugh, it was hard to tell with his face shadowed as it was.  Cas squinted through the rain and against the light.

\---

He was a hot mess.  Covered in mud, soaking wet, hair and face running with water, but ‘hot’ was right.  Even in this state, he was an attractive guy.  Improbably blue eyes, a few days growth and those bubblegum pink lips, skewing sideways as he bit the inside of his cheek.  The sass drew an embarrassed laugh as his clumsy attempt to make excuses was skewered with simple accuracy.

The dark head cocked sideways and blue eyes narrowed into a squint, as if he was trying to unpick a mystery.  Goddamn it; he was cute.

“Where are you heading?”

“Honestly?”  The squint was gone and the guy shrugged in his wet clothes.  “I have no idea.”

Dean sighed.  Against every instinct, he held out his hand.  “Dean.”

The man stared at the extended hand for a moment, and then took it.  “Steve.”  It was a lie.  Dean knew instantly.  It had taken the man time to think of it.  Not that it mattered. Dean had used enough aliases in his own life.  Dammit, sometimes even he forgot what he was supposed to be called.  They shook hands and ‘Steve’ hissed quietly through his teeth, his hand freezing mid-shake.

“Get in,”  Dean nodded towards the car.

\---

Cas opened the passenger door with difficulty and looked at the immaculate leather of the bench seat. He realised just how filthy he was and hesitated. The rain was still falling heavily and a dribble ran down his neck under his shirt like an icy finger tracing his spine.  He shivered, and climbed in.  Dean had disappeared behind the car and he felt it dip as he slammed the trunk.  

He turned to face him as he climbed in behind the driver’s wheel.  Dean flicked on the interior light, and put a battered tin on the seat between them.  “Lemme see,” he said.  Cas held back.  He dropped his voice, softer, kinder, “Your hands, lemme see.”

Cas bit his lip, and extended one arm, slowly, reluctantly, wincing as Dean unfurled his fingers to reveal skin raw and bloody from the rope burns.  He cleaned the burns with swift efficiency, wrapping them in clean soft bandages, wordlessly moving from one hand to the other.  

“I’ll fix those properly later.  Take these.”  He held out a bottle of pills.  Cas shook his head.  

He knew it was irrational, that they probably were just innocent painkillers, but… He shut down the memory of three nights ago. Was it really only three days?  

A flashback, vivid and harsh, forced its way into his thoughts.  The determined, cold look on his brother, Raphael’s, face as he entered the kitchen, the shock as he was grabbed and forced down onto the floor.  The harshness and tight pinch of the hands gripping him as he fought against them.  His satisfaction at breaking one arm free and the crunch of cartilage as his elbow made contact with a face short lived and spoiled by the roughness with which his sleeve had been yanked up.  The deep burning scratch on his arm, then everything was swimming away… his last proper recollection his brother’s voice instructing them to ‘make sure there was no trail, no mistake.’

He blinked.  Dean was staring at him, still holding the back of his hand lightly in a surprisingly gentle grip, shaking two pills out and balancing them on Cas’ fingertips. He caught his gaze and smiled, giving a tiny reassuring nod.  Cas looked away, and pulled his throbbing hands into his lap, staring at the little round white tabs.  

“Thank you,” he murmured.  

“You’re welcome.  Now stop squirming so goddamn much, you’re making a mess  of my Baby’s seats,”  he stroked the wheel affectionately, and there was a hint of humour in the voice.

Cas risked a glance, and saw a faint smile quirking the handsome face, clear green eyes gazing at him.  

“Apologies,” he cleared his throat, shaking himself free of the shock and returning the smile.  “Next time I leap out of the way of a speeding maniac, I’ll be sure to land somewhere cleaner.”

\---

He wasn’t sure when he fell asleep, the warmth and the rocking motion of the drive, combining with sheer exhaustion and the numbing effect of the pills to overcome the pain and discomfort. One minute he was gazing at the road stretching ahead in the lights, listening to Dean softly humming along to Def Leppard, or Metallica or whatever track was playing low on the tape deck, and the next he was jolting awake with a start as the engine died away, and the bright halogen of a security light hit his face.

For a moment, he was not sure where he was, and he pulled his arms protectively against his body, wincing at the protest in his muscles and the pain in his hands.  Giving up the warmth of the car was going to be unpleasant.  As he moved and the cloth in contact with his body in various places shifted he could feel the cold wetness of the fabric.  He would have to find some way of getting dry, or he was going to get hypothermia.  

He turned back to Dean, a hesitant little smile forming on his face.  “Thank you for the ride.  I’m sorry, I’ve got no money for gas…”

Dean regarded him thoughtfully.  “So where were you planning on sleeping?”

Cas shrugged.  He’d spent last night under the trees at the side of the highway, but it hadn’t been so cold and he hadn’t spent all day walking in the rain.

“Ok, Steve,” the tone of Dean’s voice made it evident he knew the name was fake.  “You’ve got no kit, no dry clothes, no money and you don’t even know where you are.  I’m not judging here, shit I’ve been in some scrapes, done my fair share of running, but you’ll catch your death if you don’t get out of those wet clothes.  When did you last eat?”  The lack of response spoke volumes.  

Dean sighed heavily and shook his head.  “Wait here.”

\---

The bored looking kid behind the desk was not in the slightest bit interested in the tall man who walked through the door and asked for a twin room.  He paid in cash and accepted the key with a muted thanks.  The kid barely turned his attention away from the TV in the corner.

“Towels in there.”  He nodded towards a hamper in the corner of the tiny lobby.  “Hot water evenings til 10, and mornings 6 - 8.  Check out by 11, unless you buy another night.”

\---

The room was clean at least, it smelt fresh even if the decor was nothing special, soft cream walls, dull brown furnishings and a single wood panelled wall.  Dean was mildly relieved.  He had seen far too many themed rooms over the years.  He tested one of the beds, surprisingly comfortable and the bedspread was soft. ‘Steve’ stood quietly just inside the door, looking about him as if it was the first time he’d ever been in such a place.  

Dean stood back up and began sorting through his bag, pulling out a t-shirt and joggers.

“These should be easy to get into,”  he said, dropping them on the bed nearest the door.  “Hot water’s off in an hour, you best go first.”  He sucked his cheek between his teeth.  “Shit, your hands…”  He ducked into the bathroom.  

His voice slightly muffled, he called back, “it’s got a bathtub, think you can manage if I pour you a bath?”  He stuck his head back around the door.  ‘Steve’ was stood by the bed, finger tips gripping the fabric of the clothes. “Well?”  Slowly he nodded, eyes still fixed on the clothes in his hands.  

Dean gripped the back of his own neck, and then decision made, he dipped back into the bathroom, the sounds of running water following a brief clank of the pipework.  He returned, kicking off his boots and gently took the clothes, placing them back on the bed.  He took the collar of the sodden coat and said softly,  “I’ll help you.” Sensing the tension under his hands he added, “No funny business, I swear.”

He felt ‘Steve’s’ shoulders relax, and he peeled the coat from his back and down his arms, easing it gently over his bandaged hands.   He knelt down and removed the sodden dress shoes, and socks.  The skin of his feet was icy cold to the touch.  “You, OK?”

“Just cold,”  Steve muttered, through clenched teeth.  “If you can pop my buttons, I can manage from there.  I’m sorry.  This is… kind… I just…”

“Dude, it’s OK.  This is partly my fault, after all.  And I told ya, I’ve been there, OK.”  

“Partly?”  Steve arched an eyebrow and his mouth tweaked into a lopsided grin.  Dean smirked back, holding up his hands in mock defence.  He scooped the clothes up from the bed and strolled back into the bathroom.  

“Right, water’s good.  Soon as you’re in, I’m gonna change quick and go pick us up some take out.”

\---

The tub was old, and deep, set into a bay of antique tiles.  It was a beautiful bathroom, incongruous in its motel setting.  The black and white mosaic of the floor, whilst he was no expert on cheap motels, was a world away from the linoleum that Cas had expected to see.  The sink and toilet were art deco in design.  

He had perched on the seat, the effort of stripping the rest of his wet clothes had left him squeezing his eyes tight against hot tears.  He had splashed the water with one foot, hoping it sounded as though he were already settling in, but in reality he waited until he heard the soft click of the outer door before he climbed into the bath, knowing that the pain was going to be tough to deal with.  

He stared at the bruises and scrapes on his body.  It was the first time he had had opportunity to take stock.  Livid purple contusions around his wrists, up his arms and down his lower legs, evidence of the harshness with which he had been seized and pinned down as he tried to fight off the ‘intervention’. The bandages on his hands were a mess of dirt from his tattered clothes and the fluid seeping through from his wounds.  The pain in his hands pulsing in competition with the hot aches as his cold body adjusted to the heat of the water surrounding him.  

He let himself cry, physically and emotionally hurting. It was cathartic.  After a few minutes he pulled himself together, and holding his hands out in front of him, let his head fall back under the water, rolling his neck to get the worst of the dirt out of his hair.

He sat up.  He had to think.  Dean seemed decent enough, if a little rough around the edges, but he had no idea just how much trouble Cas was in.  He felt a twinge of guilt, for sharing the danger he was in with someone else.  

He tried to clear his mind and focus on what little he had overheard as he came round after the ‘intervention.’  He had been lucky in some ways, or they had been sloppy.  Either way, presumably for the benefit of passersby or casual observers, they had failed to restrain him, perhaps relying on the drugs in his system.  

_Gradually aware of the motion, he had first noticed the smell of aftershave, a cloying sickly smell.  Nauseated, he had felt his stomach clamp and he instinctively swallowed back the acid that welled in his throat.  His mouth was insanely dry.  He could hear the soft rumble of tires on tarmac, the steady thrum of an expensive engine and music pounding from a stereo. Cautiously, he had opened one eye._

_The man in the backseat next to him, a huge black man with a patchwork of scars on his cheeks, had been asleep and therefore missed the tell tale signs that he was regaining consciousness.  The two in the front had the radio playing loud, their voices carrying over the music only because there were no speakers in the back.  He scanned about him quickly, the car was big, expensive, an SUV at a guess.  He was still dressed in the clothes he had been heading out to the club in; he felt the absence of his phone and wallet without needing to check.  He let his head continue to loll against the head-rest and listened carefully._

_“Did you see the ass on that waitress?  Wouldn’t o’ minded tapping that.”_

_“You need to concentrate on the job at hand.”_

_“Aw, Zachy, baby.  You can be such a kill joy.”_

_“It’s Zachariah.”  The voice was nasal, unpleasant.  “How much longer until we reach the next stop?”_

_“About 40 clicks.”_

_“Cut the military jargon,  how long?  Our little Angel is due another shot anytime soon.”_

_“Relax would ya, our little baby is out for the count and we’ll be there in plenty of time to top him up.  We could always off him out here somewhere, dump the body where no-one will find it.”_

_“After what happened in the subway, our client can’t afford any more attention.  This has to look like a simple disappearance, besides he hasn’t decided for definite yet.  This is his family after all.”_

_“Didn’t stop him last time.”_

 A soft tap on the door, brought him sharply back to the bathroom.  He eased himself out of the water, holding his hands awkwardly in front of him, and stepped out onto the mat.  “You OK in there?”  He let out a steadying breath, suddenly aware of the relief he felt in hearing the now familiar voice.  It was utterly irrational that they would have found him here, or indeed that they would knock softly on the bathroom door, but the memory was too fresh.  Shock, he realised it made the utterly unrealistic seem possible.

“Yes,  I’m fine,”  he managed, and taking another deep breath, he forced his fingers to close around the towel and began the painful task of drying and dressing himself.

 

He let himself out of the bathroom and stood in the shadows at the far end of the room, arms wrapped over each other, conscious in the short-sleeved T of just how obvious the bruising would be.  The TV in the corner was playing the tail end of some medical drama, and as the credits rolled Dean’s phone began to ring.  He answered it, and pushed one of the chairs round with his foot gesturing to it with his free hand.  

“Sammy!  Bro, bad timing, I’m just about to eat… ...it’s not that late… …Wisconsin… yeah, yeah… it was time to move on…”

The smell hit Cas’ senses and his stomach growled approval.   He opened the first carton and stared at the enormous burger. Deciding that it was almost worth being run over, he let his first mouthful confirm it. He closed his eyes and let the flavours combine on his tongue, chewing hard in his eagerness to get some food into his aching belly.

“...I promise… tomorrow… when I know where I’m going...yeah...take care, Sammy, give the smurfette my love.”  Dean set the phone down on the table, and Cas was suddenly aware that he was staring at him.  More specifically at his arms.  A brief flicker of something like anger flashed across the handsome features, before it settled into a look of compassion.  The soft lips pursed and for a moment Cas thought he was going to say something, but he simply grabbed his own burger instead and they ate in companionable silence, bar the occasional rustle of a bag or slurp of a drink.

“I’m gonna grab a shower, before the water’s off,”  Dean said, standing up and stretching.  “Then we’ll dress those hands again.”  He pulled a small bag with a garish drugstrore logo from his jacket and dropped it onto the table.  “I got you some antibiotic cream, aloe salve and some stronger painkillers.  The tylenol must be wearing off by now.”

\---

Dean was on his feet and half way between the two beds before he was properly awake, the tell-tale sounds of a nightmare stirring him before he was even aware of his surroundings.  He dropped to his knees and gently squeezed the shoulder of the man in the bed.  Soothing noises rolling naturally from his lips.  It wasn’t Sammy crying in his sleep, but the distress was just the same.

He flicked on the bedside light beside his own bed.  A pair of bright blue eyes stared wildly at him, cheeks slick with tears, hair sweated to a heated forehead.  “They killed her,” he sobbed, his eyes might be open but they were blind, still lost in the dream, “They killed Anna and now they’re going to kill me…”

“You’re safe, shhh, you’re safe… no-one else is here… shhh.”  The confusion cleared and the sobbing subsided.  Dean continued to squat by the bed, gently stroking the damp hair away from his forehead.  “You’re OK, I promise.”  Dean continued to repeat it until he heard his breathing return to the settled deep pattern of sleep.

\---

Cas was warm and comfortable, he lay on his back as he became slowly aware of his surroundings.  His hands throbbed with a dull steady ache, and he panicked slightly as the weight of sleep left his muscles and he realised that there was another weight there.  He opened his eyes, the little surge of adrenaline causing him to jerk involuntarily.  

Dean jumped awake, the arm that had been resting across Cas’ chest suddenly withdrawn.  Vague memories returned to Cas.  Running through the scrub away from the SUV, the sounds of pursuit close on his heels, then waking fitful and restless to the reassuring voice soft in his ear.  

“Morning, Sunshine,” Dean slurred, sitting up and throwing aside the blanket he had used to cover himself where he lay on top of the covers on Cas’ bed.  “After the fourth time you woke me screaming in your sleep, this was just easier…”  

“I’m sorry…” Cas flushed, suddenly embarrassed, but Dean raised a hand and gave him that skewed smile.  “Don’t sweat it,” he drawled lazily. “My brother had nightmares all the time.  It’s kinda like coming home…”

Cas winced as he moved his arms, the pain in his hands bringing him even more sharply awake, he wriggled himself upright against the headboard.  Dean broke the seal on a bottle of water and set it down on the bedside table, perching on the edge of the bed he shook two more of the pills out into his own hand.  “Here,”  he said gently,  “take these and try and get back to sleep for a bit.  I’m gonna go pay us up for the week, those burns are gonna take at least that long to heal.”  He stood up slowly and then added quietly.  “When I come back, we’ll eat, watch shit on the TV and work out a way to pass the time. No-one saw you come in here, so you can lay low and stay safe from whatever son of a bitch gave you those bruises.”


	2. Chapter 2

Cas woke slowly and opened his eyes.  Dean was sitting comfortably next to him, quietly reading a battered old paperback, and did not even glance across as Cas slid from the bed and headed for the bathroom.  When he returned Dean had placed the book open beside him on the bed, the spine cracked, the edge of the cover frayed: a well-read, well-loved copy.  Cas gazed at it as he stood a few feet away from the bed.  Slaughterhouse 5.  Vonnegut.  One of his own favourites.

The bed had been straightened in his absence, in fact it had been made with some precision, even the pillows had been plumped.  “Someone trained you well!  I didn’t have you pegged as the domestic type...” he said wryly.  “...or did the maid sneak in and out real quick!”

Dean gave that little huffing laugh and those surprisingly gentle hands smoothed over a stubborn wrinkle in the bedspread.  “Being raised by an ex-marine with limited patience, neatness tends to be habit forming.”  The smile this time was a little weak, and the corner of the perfect bow lips twitched downwards slightly as their eyes met.  A shaft of sunlight slid across the angular face as he turned giving the moss green eyes an almost luminous quality in the dark quiet of the motel room.  Dean looked nervous and slid the tip of his tongue along the line of his lip.  Cas found himself staring at it. “It was just a stupid joke, forgive me.  I... I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.  I …  You don’t have to tell me anything…” he started to say, but Dean cut him off with a wave of his hand.

“No, I don’t gotta tell you, anything… just like you don’t gotta tell me your real name, or who Anna is or what - or who - you’re running from or why they want to kill you.”  Cas stared at him, mouth opening in horror, and Dean shrugged.  “I’m sorry man, you talk in your sleep.”

The silence grew between them as they stared at each other, but it was strangely comfortable.  It was Dean who broke the gaze, he pushed the pillows up against the headboard and patted the bed beside him in invitation.  

Dean reached his arm behind Cas’ shoulder, for one fleeting moment Cas thought about relaxing back into it, curling into the warm, solid body next to him, but Dean was just gripping the headboard for balance as he leant down.  He flipped the lid of the cooler beside the bed open with fluid ease, pulling himself upright, two bottles hooked by the neck between his fingers.  He smashed the tops off using a corner of the solid bedside table and passed one to Cas, who gripped it awkwardly with his bandaged hand.  The lingering confusion of the sudden impulse for closeness set his cheeks and neck burning.   The beer was icy cold, and condensation formed on the glass.  He watched as Dean swigged heavily from the bottle, apparently unaware of his flushed face, before he mentally shook himself and followed suit.

\--- 

Sam Winchester pinched his nose and rolled his neck, muscles aching with the static tension of sitting at his PC for too long.  He stood up and moved to look out of his office window into the bright sunshine filtering down through the atrium.  If you had to have an inner office, there were worse places to work than here.  He absent mindedly twisted the ring on his finger, and realising what he was doing picked up his desk phone.

“Hey.  Sam,”  she sounded sleepy.  “I was just grabbing a nap.”

“I’m sorry, honey…”

“No, I needed to get up and make myself some lunch.”  He closed his eyes, imagining her moving around their kitchen fixing herself a sandwich.  She was so graceful, even now, even with only a few short weeks to go, swollen belly peeking out beneath her crop top.  She took his breath away sometimes, and he could never quite believe his luck.  “Are you OK, Sam?”

“Just worrying about Dean.”

Jess answered his long drawn out sigh with one of her own.  “What’s he done now?”

“He hasn’t, but…”  she let the silence build, knowing that Sam would speak when he was ready.  “He said he’d ring and tell me where he is, but he’s gone radio silent.  I don’t know… I can’t explain it, but there was something off...  Like there was something he wasn’t sharing.”

“Dean not sharing?!  Surely not!”  The sarcasm was unusual for Jess and Sam grinned into the telephone receiver in spite of himself. “Are you sure this isn’t more about your own wish fulfilment?”

Sam sighed, she was right, he did want more from his brother.  He missed him, but this unease was more than that surely.  Maybe he was just projecting his own worries.  “Maybe you’re right,”  he acknowledged her point.  “I just… I wish he’d just settle, even if it’s not here, just somewhere.  I thought maybe, becoming an uncle…”

“Call me dumb if you dare, but the phone does work in both directions, doesn’t it. If you’re that worried… have you actually tried ringing him?  Ask him where he is?”

“I knew there was a reason I married you.”

“Hm.”

“I love you, Jess.”

“I love you too, Sam.  Now get on with some work, so you can get home at a sensible hour.”

\---

Cas reached down between them and ran his fingertips over the soft worn book cover, letting the cracked texture of the plasticised paper keep him grounded in the here as he and Dean exchanged tales of childhood and the comparative tragic events in both their lives.  It was a curious game, almost tipping into the one-up-man-ship of the Secret Policeman’s Ball.  The similarities and parallels were not lost on either of them.

Dean too had lost his mother, only, unlike Cas, he had been old enough to remember her.  “She was beautiful,”  he had murmured, his face softening at her memory.  “Her hair was so soft.  I can remember wrapping it around my fingers as she read me to sleep.  I think that’s why I loved Rapunzel…imagining myself rescuing her from...” He paused and blushed as Cas giggled. “Bite me!”

“Hey… what… no… seriously, it’s cute…”

\---

Late morning had drifted into afternoon.  Dean had made them sandwiches.  Big soft doughy sandwiches, expertly layered and every bit as good as those sold in the high-end delis that delivered to the offices.  He smirked as Cas gave a sinful moan as he took his first bite and the flavours exploded over his taste buds, soft green eyes dancing with amusement.  “I take it that sandwich is to your liking?”

Cas glanced at him a little self-consciously and wiped his mouth.  “It’s perfect,”  he muttered earnestly, taking another bite, and closing his eyes as he savoured the heavenly combination once more.

“It was Sammy’s favourite, as a kid.  He’s all muesli, kale and goji berries these days.” Dean’s mouth pulled into a small moue of disgust and he actually shuddered slightly. “But when he was a kid, man, he loved my club sandwiches.”

“Gabe used to make me PB&J.  Whenever I got upset, no matter what else was going on no matter what the time was, no matter how busy he was… three sandwiches and a glass of milk.  After he’d gone I couldn’t bear to eat them anymore.  They tasted of loss.”

\---

The bright stripes of sunshine casting through the window had moved from the headboard to the base of the bed before finally fading as the sky had darkened, shifting from blue to purple like the creeping bloom of spilt ink on a page.  They had been talking for a solid eight hours, easy, comfortable in each other’s company, but now, in the early evening, the effects of the beer on top of the painkillers began to take their toll.   Cas’ responses had gone from intelligent remarks, gentle promptings and careful questions into murmurs.  Heavy lids closed over the bright blue that seemed to see right through any and every evasion.  Cas had, much to the normally private and taciturn Dean’s own surprise gently drawn out truths and admissions that had never been spoken aloud before, not even to Sam.  

Carefully gently he shifted the dozing figure down a little, smiling to himself as he curled towards him and grumbled sleepily into the pillow.  He dragged the bedspread from the other bed and draped it carefully over him, tucking it under his feet and sure that he was warm, comfortable and peacefully sleeping, he picked up his book and returned to the world of Pilgrim and Vonnegut.

They settled into a pattern, spending each day watching crappy TV, talking, drinking beers.  He had told Cas more of his life, his fears and his hopes in these few days than he had ever shared with anyone.  He stared at his watch, he had known this man for a little over 72 hours and yet they were already friends.  There was no other word for it, and Dean could barely believe it, but there was something between them, some connection that he couldn’t begin to explain.

Castiel.  Cas.  Named for the angel of Thursday, the day of his birth, by his father, a caring but distant figure, distracted and absent.  Dean knew all about coping without parents.  His own father had struggled after his mother died.  HIs grief focussed on hunting the deranged man who had filled their hallway with accelerant and struck a match that filled the house with heat and fire over a half-imagined slight.  He loved his sons, but his obsession and descent into mental illness had pretty much left them orphans.  From that first terrifying moment when his father had thrust his infant brother into his arms and shouted, ‘take your brother and run, Dean, run as fast as you can,’ he had felt responsible for Sam.  His whole focus on keeping his brother safe.

Their lives resonated, worlds apart in terms of privilege and status, but each understanding the other without effort.

The only elephant in the room was the looming presence of what had caused Cas to be running.  His family was a dysfunctional mess, no doubt about it, but he was yet to explain what had caused him to be walking down the side of the highway, with no money, no provisions, poorly dressed for the conditions and covered in bruises.  There was no way Dean was going to push him, he had no doubt Cas would tell him when he was ready.

So, each day he patiently redressed and tended the wounded hands, surreptitiously eying the bruises, as they coloured through the spectrum of recovery and began to fade and each night he soothed away the nightmares.  Affection and respect growing day by day.  

He glanced across at Cas, dark hair, unruly and spiking in all directions, tanned face relaxed as he slept, bandaged hands resting lightly in front of him.  He tweaked the covers up and over his exposed upper arm.  The familiar flash of anger as the lines of finger grips showed in the bruises more muted now, but still forcing his lips into a tight line.  He laughed at himself, fairly certain Sammy would have something to say about his over-protective, big brother streak.  

In some ways, he was much better off than Cas. OK, he didn’t have a wealthy family or a trust fund, but he had always had Sam, either as a raison d’être when he was younger, or now, as a grown man, a steadfast ally and support.  If he was the one in this position, Sam would have his back, he wouldn’t be relying on a relative stranger.  They had been dangerously codependent as teenagers, but they’d worked through it, gained their independence from each other.  Survived their own disaster, and come out the other side of it closer, stronger and better.

Sam was a happy, married man with a successful career and a first baby on the way.  Dean was prouder of him than he could ever express.  Cas on the other hand, well from what he knew so far… everyone in their way seemed to have left him or let him down.  His mother had died, Lucifer through illness, Gabe running away.  And the more they skirted around the subject, the more convinced Dean became that his older brothers were a huge part of what was going on.

Thinking of Sammy made him feel a little guilty.  He hadn’t answered his brother’s call, letting it slide to voicemail and sent a quick holding text, giving a vague sitrep.  He knew Sam was worried, damned kid had a sixth sense when it came to anything like this.  Whenever he was in trouble, or something out of the ordinary happened, Sam seemed to just be able to tell the minute he spoke to him.  So he played it safe until he knew what was up with Cas, he would keep his brother in the dark as much as possible, because he knew damn well that Sam would want to get involved.

Cas murmured slightly, the sound dragging him back from his thoughts. Dean automatically worried, but his eyelids were still and his face untroubled. Without real thought Dean leant forward and brushed an errant strand of hair away from Cas’ face, the back of his fingers stroked at the soft skin of his temple. Cas’ lips twitched slightly, and his breathing hitched into a sigh, but he simply burrowed deeper into the pillow and continued to sleep.

\---

_They had left him in the car, presuming him still unconscious he supposed, he had been careful to stay loose-limbed, keeping his breathing flat, despite the adrenalin making the blood in his ears roar.  The big man next to him had woken as the car coasted to a halt at the gas station._

_He had strained to hear them after the driver had leapt from the car.  “Need the john.”  Adler had lifted himself painfully slowly from the passenger seat, pausing with a heavy sigh, when the big man to Cas’ right had rattled the door handle complaining about being locked in the back like some giant baby._

_The clunk as the child locks were released was the only sound Cas had needed to hear.  It was now or never, if the child locks went back on again, or they locked the car… his muscles had felt sluggish from inactivity and he couldn’t be sure that he wouldn’t just fall flat on his face, but he had bunched his leg muscles, grabbed the door handle and seeing the looming figure of what must be Zachariah with his back to the door when he opened his eyes thrown himself against the door.  A satisfying ‘oof’ and the sound of someone falling behind him had given him a little surge of pleasure.  He had taken in his surroundings and sprinted for all his worth.  In a split second, he had made the decision to run towards the road, a busy two lanes boulevard with a grassy mound in the centre.  He had hurdled the guardrail, staggered and zigzagged through the traffic, hearing shouts behind him.  The blaring of a horn had pulled him up short, but the loss of momentum was fleeting.   Darting behind a speeding truck, and barely registering the screech of brakes as a startled car driver saw him last minute, he was over the next barrier and into the cover and relative safety of the trees._

_He had darted forward, the brush snatching at his legs, not daring to stop or look back, lungs burning, eternally grateful that he had kept up his training regime even after college, and started his sedentary office job, the sound of traffic diminishing with every forward step, leaving only the occasional shout as they pursued him, and his own breathing._

_Fear and desperation drove him on until the lactic acid finally caused the muscles in his torso to bunch and he had bent double exhausted and in pain.  Nausea had hit him like a wave and he retched hard, feeling his stomach muscles strain with the violence of it.  He had wiped his mouth and let his ragged breathing settle, listening hard,  the comparative silence was eerie.  He could hear only the wind rifling through the trees and the occasional noise of the forest._

It was this flight from danger that filled his nightmares… distorting as only dreamworlds can, so that sometimes they caught him, or he never made it out of the car.  Feeling them pile onto him as they had in the kitchen, stabbing him with giant needles leaving him powerless to resist.  It was from these horror-filled dreams that he woke sweating and crying, expecting to find himself strapped to his bed at home.  But each time, Dean was there patiently soothing him back to sleep.

_He was here again, deep in the woods, clutching at the stitch in his side, and urging himself on, more carefully now, thinking about what to do next.  Hearing a noise to his left, startled and spinning away from it, something damp and clammy hit his face in the darkness and his limbs were stuck, he fought hard turning to see the strands of a giant web stretching away from him, the big black man from the back seat loomed in his vision,  the scars on his face turning into the black kaleidoscopic eyes of a spider, his body morphing into something round and black, legs and arms extending into the slender hairy limbs.  His own face reflecting back at him many times, mouth stretched in a silent scream in the huge black orbs as he was turned over and over, wrapped in the heavy silken threads streaming forth from the spider's abdomen…_

Dean woke sluggishly, a few more beers than usual and a couple of nights of broken sleep, not that he resented it one iota, had made his slumber deeper than normal, and it took a moment for the sleep to clear from his head.  The bed lurched under him, and he focused just in time to see the figure next to him rolled tightly in the bedclothes disappearing over the edge.  He made a grab to save him but too late.  He switched on the bedside light with a snap and threw himself to his feet, rounding the bed and dropping to his knees in one swift movement.

Cas was fighting the bedclothes, panicked and frantic.  His breath was erratic, panting and babbling incoherently, as he struggled.  

“Cas, it’s OK. Cas you’re safe.  Cas, it’s just the sheets, wake up.  It’s just you and me, it’s just Dean.  Hush, hush, it’s OK, I’ve got you, you’re OK.  It’s OK…. ouch…. for fuck's sake!”  He winced as the arm he had just freed, swung and a fist hit him square in the jaw, knocking him backwards.  “Jesus, Cas, wake up, you’re just tangled up in the covers.”

He rushed forward again, ignoring the taste of copper in his mouth.  He pulled at the bedspread and sheets, wrenching them clear, spinning Cas over and over as he unravelled, coming to rest against the bed, half sitting, eyes wide and blinking, elbows braced against the floor.

“He had me, I… I couldn’t get away… he was going to… he was…”

Dean dropped back against the wall between the beds and pulled Cas into him, cradling him, stroking his face and hair, as he sobbed, great racking sobs, soaking Dean’s neck and T-shirt as he let himself be turned and held tight. Gradually, slowly he calmed, coming back to himself from the horrors of the nightmare.  Dean felt the subtle change, as Cas regained control of himself, one moment he was clinging to Dean for all he was worth, the next he was pulling away, and Dean relinquished his hold and let his arms drop.

Cas tried to push himself up, but gasped in pain, hands recoiling into fists as he overbalanced and fell heavily against Dean.  The sudden impact knocked him back, and his head connected with the wall behind him hard enough for stars to dance briefly in the darkness of the motel room.

“Oh my God, Dean, are you alright?  Dean!”  Cas spun onto his knees between his legs and his concerned face, streaked with tear stains, loomed in Dean’s swimming vision, “Jesus, I’m so sorry!”

Dean shook his head quickly, clearing the blurriness from his eyes and tried for a reassuringly goofy grin, not realising that his mouth and chin were covered in blood.  He winced and rubbed at the back of his head, about to lift himself up until his vision swam and he dropped sideways to lean against the bed, just as Cas returned from the bathroom with a washcloth.

He started to protest as Cas wiped his face, grabbing at the damp fabric and half-laughing as Cas smacked at his fingers and said, “Hold still you big baby.”  He stared at the cloth as it came away red and licked experimentally at the inside of his lip.  Cas was checking the back of his head, gentle fingertips parting his hair, he murmured a complaint as Cas pressed against the sore spot on the back of his head.

“Cas…” he began.

“I did this?”  Bright blue eyes scanned his face, as Cas pulled at his lip, exposing the split, wincing in sympathy.  “I’m so sorry.”  

“It’s fine,” he muttered irritably, pulling his head back, then seeing the look on Cas’ face, his voice softened.  “Hey, you didn’t do it on purpose.  Mess with nightmares and sometimes you get hurt. Sammy nearly bust my nose once.” He swallowed, hesitating until Cas looked up and they locked eyes. “Maybe it’s time for you to tell me what’s going on,”  he invited softly.

They stared at one another, Dean leaning back against the wall, arms at his sides, Cas still kneeling forward between his spread legs, hands curled into his own lap.  Finally, Cas closed his eyes, lids dropping over deep indigo pools, the intensity of the blue somehow not lost even in the shadows cast by the single weak bulb of the bedside light.  He nodded, barely.  The movement so tiny and fractional that had Dean not been paying such close attention he would have missed it.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So this is the back story... set some months before...

Anna Milton sighed, and stretched her arms to ease the ache between her shoulder blades.  She stared at her own reflection in the floor-to-ceiling windows of her office, her bright red hair muted to a deep maroon by the blackness of the night outside.  

It matched her mood, she thought wryly.  The view across the city was spectacular, day and night, but she preferred it at night, city lights twinkling like stars in the night sky.

“You OK, Anna?” A gruff voice broke into her thoughts.                                                             

“Hey Castiel, I didn’t realise anyone else was still here.”

“Just finishing up these reports… They took me a lot longer than I first thought.”

Director of Marketing at Angel Inc., Anna had been pleasantly surprised by Castiel.  She had thought that, as the youngest son of the corporate family, he would be a spoilt, entitled little shit, but he was actually quiet and unassuming.  Diffident and shy, he worked hard, didn’t play the nepotism card, and was really eager to learn.

Amelia Angel’s portrait had hung in the President’s office for the last 25 years and when she first met him Anna had been startled by Castiel’s resemblance to his mother.  The same brilliant blue eyes, and rare shy smile, that seemed to brighten the room for all its briefness, had come alive in him after years of seeing it gazing at her from the wall.  Castiel was two decades younger than his other brothers and as unlike them as it was possible to be.  

Michael and Raphael ran Angel Inc. now that their father was no longer at the helm.  The effect of the stroke on his once lively and agile mind had forced a retirement that had been unimaginable, up until the day of Charles Angel’s aneurism.  

His death some six months later was a shock as he had been making steady progress and was starting to show signs of interest in his business again.  She shuddered at the memory of the cold November day in the cemetery, feeling it every bit as strongly as she had when she lost her own parents.  

Neither of the Angel brothers was a patch on their father in Anna’s opinion.  Michael was well-intentioned, but unimaginative.  He ran logistics competently enough, but he was not the inspiring figure his father had struck.  And Raphael?  Raphael was exceptional, clever and charming, but also manipulative.  In short, Raphael was a snake.  

She had liked Charles “Chuck to my friends, and ambitious redheads with grit and determination” Angel, from the instant she met him.  She smiled at the memory of his good natured, charming manners.

Castiel was a little more serious and earnest than his father, but shared the same good humour and easy manner.  He was a little reserved, blushing easily at compliments and maybe a bit sheltered.  She supposed that was not so surprising, he was the baby of his family and only child to Charles Angel’s second short-lived marriage.  

After his first wife died in a car crash, Charles had thrown himself into his work, raising his four boys alone, until he met his second wife some fifteen years later.  She was a beautiful ambitious woman.  He was besotted with her, delighted by her pregnancy, still youthful despite his silver hair and 64 years.

She had died shortly after giving birth to Castiel.  Her decision to throw herself from the balcony at home while Chuck was in Europe covered up as tragic accident.  

It was over a decade now since Chuck and Anna had been sat quietly in a hotel bar relaxing after the hubbub of a busy conference visit.  The conversation changed tone once Anna had noticed Chuck looking so sad that she broke her own ‘no personal shit at work’ policy and asked him what was bothering him.

Gradually, he had opened up to Anna; it was the anniversary of Amelia’s death.  He told her all about his beautiful wife, their life together, his love for her, the shock of her death and how it had affected Lucifer,  the youngest of the four older brothers.  He had always been a little unconventional, choosing to be an artist rather than join the firm like his brothers.  Expelled from prep school for drinking, before pulling himself together and attending a prestigious art college in the city.  The lined old face glowed with affection.

“Luci was never the same after she died.” Chuck explained.  “He loved Amelia.  Finding her like that, with the sound of little Castiel crying in his crib drifting down from the window above? It shook him so badly. He was always a little wild, but I think it tipped him over the edge.  His art took a dark turn after that.”

The decision of committing his son to a mental institution weighed heavily on Chuck. The pain of it obvious as he talked to Anna.  His other son, Gabriel, had been furious with them all, furious that his father had ignored his pleas to keep Lucifer at home.

“I was glad of Raphael’s strength and Michael’s support, I don’t think I could have signed those papers without them.  It was too much.  Like Gabriel, I felt like we were giving up on him, but he was so obsessed with the idea that she hadn’t taken her own life.  It was obvious he was losing his grip on reality.”

“He even accused me of having her killed.  I loved her, Anna, I would never have hurt her.”  She had listened quietly, honoured by his trust in her.  It was utterly unthinkable that this gentle man, who even in business was never utterly ruthless, could have harmed his wife.  Poor Lucifer.  How bad his illness must have been.

“Gabriel was convinced we should help him at home.  He was so angry with us all.  He told me he was only sticking around so that at least Castiel would have one good, loving influence in his life.  That hurt.  I love all my boys.  It was during Cas’ first term at prep school that I found the drugs in his room.  Gabe denied they were his and we had a huge row, and he left.”

She couldn’t imagine it; hearing what had happened was hard enough.

Her loyalty to Charles Angel and the faith she had in him was instinctive; he had never done anything to make her doubt him. He had recruited her direct from college, her Professor, an old friend of his recommending her to him.  Chuck had given her her first break in his firm.  “You’ll have to start at the bottom, kiddo, there’s no such thing as a free ride.”  

But she had worked hard, proven herself loyal and trustworthy and now here she was 20 years later, successful and running a department, with the tantalising prospect of a corner office and a seat on the board.

And hereby, lay the problem.  Now that Chuck was gone, that seat was dependent on Raphael, his power at the top of the company only ever challenged by Michael.  And what he had asked her to do for that seat, disgusted her.  

“Are you sure you’re all right Anna?  You look so…”  Castiel cut into her thoughts again, tiny crinkles appeared between his eyebrows as he sourced the word he was looking for, head cocked to one side in a curiously bird-like gesture.  It was a common mannerism, she had noticed.  He did it often when he was trying to make sense of the world. “...troubled.”  

She sighed.  Not entirely sure it was right to lay this on Castiel.  He was a member of the family, and it would put him in a very awkward position, but there was no-one else she could talk to and she genuinely cared about this firm.  

Her indecision and confusion must have shown on her face, because he suddenly reached out and rested his hand briefly on her lower arm.  She flinched instinctively, and his eyes flew wide, his hand recoiling.

“I’m sorry…”

“Sorry…”

They spoke over each other, and then he was grabbing a chair, and she was unburdening herself.  How Raphael had called her into his office for a ‘meeting’ and then instead of the expected business of marketing strategy, she found herself being propositioned.  Offered a seat on the board in return for her support in ousting Michael from his position as dual head of the company.  Bad enough.

But then his face and thoughts had turned lascivious, he had crowded her personal space, stroking her hand with those long elegant fingers and then worse...

Her face twisted as she told the story, losing control of her chin, voice wavering, angrily blinking back tears.  “Jesus,”  she said with real anguish, “I’m sorry, this is your family and here I am nearly blubbing like a…”

“Anna,”  Castiel said gently, “you have nothing to apologise for.  You were assaulted.  My brother,”  he practically spat the word, and she stared in slight shock at the anger burning in his bright blue eyes, “has abused his power in the worst way possible.  I am so sorry _you_ have been put in this position.  Did this… was this what happened on Friday?”

She let her head drop briefly, and mumbled to her own clenched hands.

“Yes.”  She nodded miserably.

“Anna, I am so sorry, I thought…” she looked up and he was shaking his head, mouth set thin and angry, “...I thought it was consensual.”  

He registered the look of surprise on her face.  “ I saw you when you left his office,” he explained.  

It made far more sense now,  her body language as she rushed from the room had not been as Raphael had explained it away, a lovers’ tiff.  Anna had not seen Castiel as she rushed across the foyer and away from his father’s office, but Raphael had noticed his discomfort as he entered the room, and told him that the affair was a secret and asked him to keep it that way to protect Anna’s reputation.  

“You can’t tell anyone, Castiel.  It has to go no further.  I can’t lose this job, I will find a way of handling it, but making an official complaint is just not an option…”

He shook his head, face grim.  Knew the truth of what she was saying, but was far from happy about it.  “He can’t get away with it, Anna.”

“He won’t.  I promise.”

“It should be me reassuring you, not the other way round.”

“It’s OK, Castiel.  I know you’re part of the family, but you are as much under Raphael’s power as I am.  It’s such a relief to tell someone.”

The phone ringing insistently from Cas’ pocket made them both jump, and they laughed at each other.  “I’d better answer it,”  Cas said as he glanced quickly at his screen.  “It’s Bal, and I’m…” he looked at the time, “...shit...I’m about 40 minutes late for his latest attempt to set me up on a double date!”

  
\---  


Anna noticed over the next few weeks that she was never left alone at work.  Castiel was determined to stay late, or be working in the vicinity whenever she was potentially alone.  

When Raphael visited her office one afternoon,  Castiel had come strolling in burdened with a huge pile of files at the opportune moment, blushing and blustering an apology as he let them slip from his arms all over the floor.  Raphael had not been amused, and had eyed Castiel suspiciously.

They met each week in a coffee shop a couple of blocks from the offices.  Anna was carefully compiling evidence of Raphael’s activities,  convinced he was colluding with their rivals to boost his own power on the board and undermine Michael.  She prepared her case to take to Michael and the remainder of the board, confident that with Castiel’s backing they might at least listen.

  
\---

“What’s with you and the cutie-pie then?”

“Huh?”  Anna looked up from her lunch.  Hannah, one of the supervisors from Sales, was pulling up a chair, mouth twitching with amusement.  She put down her chicken wrap and wiped her fingers on the tissue napkin.  “What?  Which cutie-pie?”

“Oh… play the innocent...our dark-haired blue-eyed babe from Marketing…”

“Castiel?” Anna spluttered.  “He’s young enough to be my… well at the very least a baby brother…”

Hannah smiled.  “He’s still cute, half the building is lusting after him.  And it’s been noticed.  He’s always hovering around you.”

“We’re…”  what the hell could she say exactly?  Friends?  Colleagues?  He’s decided to protect me from his asshole older brother?  We’re plotting to make sure that our boss doesn’t get to take over the whole firm? She thought quickly.  “I’m helping him with his dissertation, and he’s a real nice kid, but there’s nothing more to it.”

The look on Hannah’s face told Anna that she was not exactly convinced, but she nodded.  “To be fair,  quite a few of the team seem to think he’s probably gay.  He certainly doesn’t respond to flirting...”

“Jeez, Hannah.  Do you guys not have enough work to do in Sales?”

\---  


The ‘sting’ when it came, blindsided them both.  

“Cas,”  Michael beamed at his younger brother, genuinely pleased to see him.  “I have news, little brother.”

“Oh,”  Cas looked up from his breakfast, across the expanse of the enormous family kitchen.  He was dressed ready for work, and had his tie thrown over his shoulder to avoid it trailing into his breakfast bowl.  It was something he had been doing since his prep school days, and made him seem even younger and more boyish than ever.

“You’re going to Seattle.”

“Seattle?  Why… what… Why?”

“Raph and I have been talking.  We need someone to head up a delegation…” Seeing the look of consternation on Castiel’s face, Michael frowned.  “I thought you’d be pleased.  It’s a great opportunity.  I’ve been bigging you up to Raph for months now, and you look as if I’ve just stolen your Christmas presents.”

“I’m… I’m grateful Michael, really I am, but we’re so busy at the moment… I… the timing’s not right.”

“Noted, Cas.  Your work ethic isn’t in question, I think that’s what finally changed Raph’s mind.  He’s noticed the hours you’ve been putting in.  Everyone has.  No-one has anything but good to say about _you_.”

‘I bet he’s noticed,’ Cas thought.  Shit, how was he going to get out of this?  “We’re really up against it Michael.  There’s so many projects on the go at the moment.  I don’t think I can be spared.”

“Nonsense, little brother, it’s the perks of being family.  Raph has already drafted in some extra help for Anna.  He’s noticed how she’s struggling at the moment, but it’s not your responsibility to prop up a failing department…”

Cas dropped his spoon.  “It’s not a failing department,” he said, too quickly he realised as Michael took on the ‘kindly older, wiser brother’ look.  He blustered on, “Anna is a brilliant Marketing Manager.  In fact she’s…”

Michael was shaking his head, a little sadly.  “Raph has had concerns about her for sometime, Cas.  But it’s OK, it won’t and doesn’t reflect on you.”

“But she’s…”  Cas paused.  How could he convince Michael.  “It’s Raphael, he’s trying to undermine her, because she won’t…”

Michael frowned.  “Your loyalty to your team leader is admirable, Cas.  But the effectiveness of the business comes first.  She was always one of Dad’s favourites, and it’s obvious that he was propping her up.”

The heat rose in his cheeks, and he gritted his teeth.  “It’s not like that Michael.  She’s really loyal, and she wants what’s best for the company.  Raph is…”  

He jumped as Raphael’s deep voice cut through the conversation.  “I’m what, little brother?”

It was now or never.  Cas swallowed hard, clenching his fists.  “You’re wrong about Anna.  She’s not struggling, she’s not ineffective and everyone else knows she’s not.”

Michael looked first at Cas and then at Raphael with a pained expression.  “I see, Raphael.  You were right.”  He sighed heavily, and reached out to put a hand on Cas’ shoulder.

Enraged Cas shook it off.  “Michael, he wants you out, Anna was trying to do what was right for the firm and he assaulted her.  I saw her leaving his office and she was so upset.”

Raphael looked at Michael sadly, and shook his head.  “I told you, Castiel.  Anna is just upset that our few dinner dates didn’t develop into anything.  She had Dad wrapped around her little finger and the only thing she’s upset about is that she couldn’t work the same trick on me.”

“YOU’RE LYING.”  Cas shouted.  “She’s not like that!”

“This is why we think it would be better if you went and spent some at the Seattle office.”

“What about Anna?”  Cas said stubbornly.

“HR management is not your concern, Castiel.  She will get a good pay off.”

Desperately, ignoring Raphael, Cas turned to Michael.  “You have to listen to me, Michael.  Raphael is trying to take over the company, he wants you off the board.  All this is because Anna said no.”

“I told you Michael, she has well and truly poisoned him.”

“YOU are the only poison here,”  Cas ground out between his teeth, turning towards Raphael with his temper barely in check.  His cheeks flushed and burned with impotent rage.  “I’ll go to the board,  I’ll tell them the truth about you.  At least they might listen.”

“I’m sorry Cas, I’d hoped we could avoid this, but Raphael is right.  Anna was always one of Dad’s favourites, and she just doesn’t like it now that she doesn’t have the same power.  We can’t have someone working against us, there are moves from rival companies to takeover, and we need a solid team on the board.  You aren’t party to those meetings, you don’t understand the pressure we are all under…  Take today off, pack your things, tomorrow, you can fly out with the delegation.  By the time you come back, all the unpleasantness will be over and you can go back into marketing if you want to, or maybe try something else.”

“I’m going in and there’s nothing you can do to stop me.”

“Ok Cas,”  Raphael said calmly.  “If you insist you can go to the office.  No-one is going to stop you.  But tomorrow you either go to Seattle or you’re fired, and I’ll have security revoke your pass.  I don’t want to be draconian, but Michael and I run this firm and we’ll do whatever we have to, to protect it.”

Cas stormed from the kitchen, determined to get out of the house.  He walked quickly towards his room to grab his laptop bag, pulling his phone from the charger and hitting dial on Anna’s contact.  The phone didn’t answer and he left a message asking her to call.

\---  


No-one would look him in the eye as he walked to his desk.  Anna’s office looked bare.  All her personal belongings were already gone.  

He stalked to his own desk and sat down, heavy hearted.  This was exactly what she had feared, and now he had failed to help her.  Raphael had won, and Michael, dumb, stupid, blind Michael was swallowing Raphael’s every lie.

His phone vibrated suddenly in his pocket and he jumped slightly.  He flicked the screen lock off.

_Meet me at Orlandos.  Lunch time._

Orlandos was a coffee shop, just down the block.  Far enough from the building to not be a regular haunt, close enough to be doable.

  1. _Anna, you OK?_



_Fine.  Meet me.  I have something to show you.  BE CAREFUL._

Cas frowned.  Be careful?  He wasn’t afraid of his brothers, it was too late for being careful anyway.  He had already shouted at both of them this morning.  Any chance he had of convincing Michael of the truth was gone at the moment.

He would have to find some proof.  If Raphael had tried to turn Anna, maybe he had also tried it with others.

\---  


Anna jumped lightly from the subway train, dark red hair swinging down over her shoulders in an arc, and headed along the platform towards the surface.  

The subway was busy at this time of day, not as crowded as the morning and evening rush hour, but never really quiet.  She glanced at her watch,  she had twenty minutes to reach the coffee shop, instinctively she picked up her pace a little, and pressed through the dispersed crowds.

The dossier in the manilla folder in her messenger bag held precious documents.  And most crucially a memory stick with the audio of her conversation with Raphael.  It was a risky manoeuvre talking to him alone, but she wanted to see if she could get him to make his offer again, or at least refer to it.  

He had obliged, sort of, this time it had been the threat that she could either support him, or go quietly with a handsome payoff.  If she tried to expose him, he would make sure she not only lost her job, but that she would get no reference and would find it hard to get work anywhere else.

It was damning enough that the board should listen.  Now all she had to do was talk to Cas.  

She was caught off balance as someone bumped against her.  At first, she thought that the tug on her bag had been a snag, before realising it had been grabbed.

She clung on to it for a few seconds, until it was ripped from her grasp. She staggered backwards slightly and a hand tipped under her elbow, knocking her further onto her back foot, the heel of her other foot falling over the edge of the platform into free space.  A few hands reached out to her from the crowd as people realised what was happening, trying to grab her to safety.  The last thing she heard as she turned her head into the oncoming train, was the mingling of her own scream with those of some of the horrified bystanders on the platform.  Her last thought? That she should have followed her own advice.

\---  


Castiel, held his coffee mug, enjoying the heat seeping into his fingers.  He glanced again at his phone.  It was way past the time they had arranged to meet and it was not like Anna to be late.  

He was about to ring her when his own phone began vibrating for attention, he hit accept and pulled it to his ear without checking the caller ID, expecting to hear Anna’s soft voice.

The voice was altogether deeper but still familiar.  “Castiel, where are you little brother?  I don’t want you to get too upset, but I have some bad news.”

\---  


He wasn’t sure exactly how he got back to the offices.  Michael met him in the lobby.  “Let’s get you home, Cas.  This has been a horrible day all round, and we don’t want to spread even more alarm upstairs amongst the teams.  I’ve already given Anna’s PA and some of the team members a compassionate day.”

“He did this Michael, this is his fault.  I know you don’t want to believe it.  I didn’t either, he’s our brother, but…”

Michael’s arm around his shoulder, gripped slightly more tightly.  “Hush, let’s get you home.  Now isn’t the time and this most definitely isn’t the place.”  

Cas allowed himself to be lead out of the lobby towards one of the company cars.  Numb with disbelief and shock.  

He stared at Michael as he slammed the saloon car door and then walked around the car to climb into the other side.  Cas  turned  back over his shoulder, watching the building as the car swept into the Manhattan traffic.

  
\---

Michael did not leave Cas to himself at all for the rest of the day.  All he wanted to do was check his e-mails and messages and find out what was going on at the firm, but Michael seemed determined to keep him under observation.  

“Shouldn’t you be at the office, steadying the ship?”  Cas suggested.  “Surely, everyone is rattled.”

“People come and go all the time from a firm our size Cas.”

“Not the Director of Marketing.  The ‘well-liked, been there for two decades, very well-regarded’ Head of a major department.  And she has hardly just come and gone Michael.  She was sacked, unexpectedly and then died the day after.  That’s got to be…”

“Raphael is more than capable of settling the rumour mill. Cas.”

Cas sighed.  He had always looked up to Michael.  He had never really known Luci all that well, he was already the black sheep of the family by the time Cas came along.  

Gabriel, before he had left, had been kind, in an abstract, ruffling his hair and teasing him kind of way.  He had left when Cas was only about 8 or 9.  

Michael had been the brother who took the time to help him with his homework, and came to prize givings and plays.  He was the one person, besides their father, who in fairness was pretty distracted most of the time, who had actually given Cas time and attention.

“Michael, I… I know you don’t really want to believe this, but Raph isn’t well regarded.  People don’t trust him.  You… you need to be careful.”  Cas held his brother’s gaze, willing him to believe what had become self-evident to Cas in the last few months, since he had joined the firm.  “Dad kept him on a really short leash… he trusted you to just get on with your role, but he …”

“Raphael is our brother.  He will always have our best interests at heart.  Being in business isn’t about doing what’s popular.  Raph has a better grasp of strategic direction and I’m there to soften his stance when he needs it…”

“What, like you did with Anna?”

“Enough Cas, I know you liked her, but…”

Cas could not bear to look any longer at the condescending pitying look on Michael’s face.  He tried one last time, his final gambit.  It was stupid, he needed the evidence to back it up, but he was getting desperate.

“He’s trying to oust you, Michael.  Anna knew, she was gathering evidence.  We were gathering evidence together, she was coming to meet me today, with the proof…and now she’s dead,”  his voice cracked a little and he swallowed hard.

Michael looked incredibly sad.  “OK, Cas, it’s OK.  She meant a lot to you.  I don’t think now is the right time for you to be heading off to the Seattle office.  You just relax here for a couple of days. Come to terms with the loss.  I’m genuinely sorry Cas, but from what the police are saying it was just a mugging gone wrong.”

“Michael, as a favour to me, just promise me.  Don’t talk to Raphael about this.  I… I need time to think.  Please, promise me.”

Michael shook his head, lips pursed and thinking, but he murmured quietly.  “OK, Cas, I promise.  Now you go rest.  You look exhausted little brother, and I promised Dad I would look out for you.”  The reassuring smile was anything but.  

  
\---

Cas flopped onto his bed.  His room had changed little since before he left for college.  Somehow he could never be bothered to put away his teenage belongings, and since the rest of the family continued to treat him like the baby of the family it had never seemed a problem.  

He lay back looking at his posters of films and icons.  His mother smiled back at him from the pencil drawing that Lucifer had made of her, holding him as an infant.  It was naive and delicate; his brother had undoubted talent.  

Cas had long suspected that Luci had been in love with his mother.  Gabe hinted at it more than once, but now they were all gone from his life.  One in an asylum, one dead and the other Lord knew where.  

He sighed, and looked at his phone.  He needed to talk, there was really only one option…

\---

“Caaasss, baby,”  the noise of music pounding in the background almost drowned out the voice. 

_“Let me go somewhere quieter.”_  

There was a crumpling, crackling noise, and the sound of a hinge, before the beat dropped to a subtle pounding, the melody obscured by whatever wall, Balthazar had put between himself and the session.  “What’s up?”

\---  


Balthazar Laduz leant back in the leather booth he kept for himself and his close friends.  He could smell a hanger on a mile off, and whilst he slickly maintained his smoozing and charm, he counted his true friends on the fingers of one hand.  

He and Cas had met in kindergarten, maintained the friendship with letters and occasional meet ups whilst Cas went off to prep school, and ended up by fluke in the same college.  A brief and thoroughly unsuccessful attempt at dating during their first year had not affected their friendship and they began sharing a house from their second year onwards.  As different as the proverbial chalk and cheese, their mutual respect and affection for one another was unfaltering.  

It had taken him only minutes to convince Cas that he should head down to The Venue, which in itself was cause for worry.  Cas was not a clubber, especially on a work night.  He loathed the loud music and the ‘pretentious’ crowd that hung there.  Whatever his trouble was, it was big.

Balthazar strolled towards the bar, stopping to air kiss a regular patron, as she flounced past in all her glory, the little number she was barely wearing probably costing more than his own college education.  

 _THE_ Venue was aptly named.  Even the wealthy and the influential sometimes struggled to make it through the doors and it was all based on Balthazar’s magic touch.  

He glanced at his phone, wondering if Cas had changed his mind about coming.  He had sounded so uptight, there was more to this than the death of his colleague.  

The last thing he had heard was the clatter of Cas’ feet on the stairs, as he headed down towards the front door to come into the city.  

His last comment a hurried, “I’ll see you in 40 minutes.”  

Balthazar had heard someone else’s voice distantly saying ‘Castiel?’ before the phone went silent.  

That was over two hours ago.

He ducked behind the bar, through the cellar where a gaggle of staff were busily reloading trays and restocking fridges and out to the quieter area beyond, where his reception was better.  He pushed his way out onto the fire escape, and hit redial.  

Cas’ phone rang briefly, before jumping to his recorded message.  

“Shit,”  Bal said under his breath.  

He tried again and this time the phone did not respond.  Maybe Cas had lost battery, he was pretty upset, maybe his usually near obsessive need to have his phone always charged had slipped away from him under the circumstances.  He fired off a quick text, before calling the door staff.

“No sir, we haven’t seen Mr Angel.  I’ll check the queue for you sir, in case any he’s decided to join it again.”  Balthazar chuckled.  

It was not entirely unusual for Cas to do just that, unlikely tonight though.  Indeed, there was no sign of Cas, and he hadn’t checked his car in at the valet.

Bal stared at his phone, finger hovering over his contact list.  Reluctantly he dialled the house number.  He felt his own lip curl a little as Raphael’s deep voice crawled into his ear.  

“Slumming it Raph?” he asked cheerfully, smoothly hiding his distaste.  “I thought you had minions to do lowly tasks like conversing on the phone.”  He did not wait for an answer.  “Is Cas there, only…”

“Castiel is sleeping,” Raphael informed him.  “I’m afraid he had rather a shock today, and on the advice of our doctor he has taken a mild sedative and called it a night.  I’ll tell him you called in the morning.  Good night.”

The line was dead, before Balthazar could utter another word.  He stared pensively at the wall, tapping his phone against his lip, feeling truly uneasy.  He shrugged, there was nothing to be done now, but tomorrow…  Shrugging his worries aside he wandered back into the bar.  


	4. Chapter 4

Dean woke first, soft spiky dark hair tickled his ear where Cas’ head dropped against the side of his neck.  The dawn light was just beginning to peek through the curtains. He yawned and looked down at Cas, trying to shift him gently without waking him, flexing his fingers against the pins and needles.

As Cas had talked, they had moved together, so that Dean’s arm rested around Cas’ shoulders, heavy and reassuring and safe.  Exhausted, they had both drifted off to sleep, heads resting either side of a pillow propped between them.  Cas stirred, and lifted his head, endearingly sleep filled eyes, heavily hooded, he rubbed at his face with the back of one bandaged hand.  Dean grimaced.  The bandages were soaked through again. “We need to get those cleaned up and re-dressed,” he said.

Cas pulled a face, but dragged himself upright, allowing Dean to shift from underneath him and fetch the medi-kit.  He worked quickly and gently.   “Is there no-one else you can call?  A friend?  One of those board members…What about your friend at the club? Mel?”

“Bal,”  Cas corrected thoughtfully, “his name is Bal, short for Balthazar.”  He laughed at the face Dean pulled at the name.  “It’s why we ended up friends in the first place.  Nothing bonds two kids quicker than being the ones with the weirdo names.”

“Yeah, well…”

“Anna is dead, Dean.”  He winced as Dean pulled a particularly stubborn piece of gauze from a patch just behind his right thumb. “I can’t prove it, but I’m fairly certain that it wasn’t an accident.  It’s too much of a coincidence, and those … those… jerks, they knew something.  I didn’t want to believe it, but after what Raph did to me…”  He shook his head sadly.  “I can’t drag Bal into this, it’s too dangerous.  And I’ll understand if you want me to leave. ”

“Hm, lemme think… no way.  Number 1: your hands.”  He paused turning them back and forth in his own.  “They’re healing well, but you can’t do this yourself everyday and without regular treatment they’ll get infected.  Number 2: no-one knows you’re here, hell _you_ didn’t know you were _here_ , until I told you where you here is.”  He grinned mischievously, “most importantly, number 3 who else is gonna watch re-runs of Dr. Sexy with me…”

Cas gave him a stern look. “I’m serious, Dean.  Raph is dangerous.  The company takeover, Anna, it’s just the tip of the iceberg.  What if Luci was right?  What if he did have something to do with what happened to my mother.  Gabe didn’t talk to me often about it, but he got drunk one night.  Told me that it was mainly Raph who wanted Luci interned, said it was him who convinced Dad and Michael that Luci was ill and needed intervention.  Do you think it’s just coincidence that he tried the same crap with me?  Do I seem mentally unhinged to you?”

Dean pulled his face into one of fake consideration, and Cas sighed with exasperation, withdrawing his freshly bandaged hands from Dean’s soft grip, he seized the pillow he had rested his arms on and hit him with it.

\---

Raphael listened with mild disinterest to Michael’s blow by blow account of the negotiations in Seattle.  He was bored, as ever, by his brother’s need to expand on low level details.  Raph prided himself on his strategic thinking, happy to leave his brother to minor details like levels of redundancy and changes to storage and warehousing.  He rolled his eyes, as Michael began to explain some irrelevant conversation with a middle tier manager on the dockside.

“Raph?”  he realised he had drifted off from the conversation.  “I said, how’s Cas?”

“He’s fine, Michael.  He sent me a message Friday morning, while I was at the firm, he’s gone to see some of his college friends.”

“Alone?”  Michael sounded alarmed.  Raphael gripped the phone and his lip curled slightly with irritation.  “Are you sure that’s wise?  Has he…”

“He was much calmer by Thursday, Michael.  We had a good talk, cleared the air.  He’s conflicted about Anna, of course.  He liked her.  I told him it was unlikely it was suicide.  Just a ridiculous accident.  He seemed to accept it.”  The lies flowed easily, and Michael, as ever, swallowed them without query.

“Well, if you’re sure he’s OK.”

“He’s a big boy now, Michael.  I know it’s hard sometimes, but we have to let him have his own space.  A weekend away with his friends will have helped him get some perspective back.”

They finished the call, and Raphael turned his thoughts back to the problem at hand.  The idiots had let Cas give them the slip, and now Balthasar Laduz, the pathetic queer that Cas hung around with was starting to make waves.  It had been hard enough to stop him from coming to the house to visit Cas for the last week.  

Somehow the little shit had managed to disappear without trace.  He’d made no attempt to withdraw funds or use his accounts, Raph was monitoring them all.  He’d thought about locking them down, but as they had removed him from the house without his phone or laptop there was no other way to track him, so he left them open in the hope Cas would become desperate enough to try it.  So far, nothing.  The three stooges were hunting him hard, but Raphael had little confidence they would find him without some help, not after several days.  Even he had to admit, Cas was surprisingly resourceful, shame he hadn’t had time to convince him to come on board.  A much more satisfying collaborator than the dull tool that was Michael.

Reluctantly he had reverted to plan B.  He would inform Laduz that Cas had gone to see college friends, and let him try and track him down.  When the time was right, as Michael returned he would hang his head and admit he had misjudged the situation.  He should have stayed home, Cas was not as calm and sensible as he had assumed… then they would inform the local police he was missing.  

Raphael poured himself two fingers of Highland Park.  He softened it with a splash of water and a couple of cubes of ice, laughing softly to himself as he imagined the look of disappointment on his father’s face if he saw him drinking his fine malt on the rocks.  Stupid old fool.  The look on his face as Raphael had crimped his drip and loaded the contents of the syringe into it.  No shock, no surprise, just a knowing sadness, as if he’d been expecting it. A hint of that same disappointment in the fading blue eyes.  Raphael hissed as the honeyed malt hit his throat.  “Always a disappointment to you wasn’t I, old man,” he toasted the picture on the mantel.  “Well now who’s the failure?  You couldn’t protect your precious Amelia while you were alive, and now you can’t protect her bastard son either.”  He slugged the remainder of the drink back and threw the glass into the fireplace where it shattered with a satisfying sound, the remnants of alcohol in the glass flaring in the flames spiking from the log pile.

\---

They walked to the diner on the corner.  Cas was wearing a baseball cap and glasses.  In borrowed clothes, Dean’s jeans crumpling at his ankles, layered in t-shirt, plaid shirt and jacket, he looked as unlike himself as was possible.  After five days indoors he was going vaguely stir crazy.  Dean had reconnoitered the diner a number of times, and at 9 in the morning it was the right level of busy for the customers to be anonymous.

They picked a booth away from the door, the wall behind them and the window obscured by a dutch net.  Cas picked absent mindedly at the cracked laminate of the menu, while Dean scanned the specials board.

The waitress, a middle aged woman, winked at them sitting side by side on one side of the booth.  “You boys ready to order, or do you just want coffee and a while to ponder?”

Dean smiled at her.  “Coffee, please Maisie,” he said pleasantly, scanning her name badge.

She returned with two mugs, and poured a rich smelling blend into them, setting a small pitcher of cream on the table.  “You just waggle your fingers when you’re ready to order, handsome.”

Cas sniffed suspiciously at the coffee, sipping cautiously, his dark glasses fogging from the rising steam.  Dean lifted them gently off his face and set them on the table.  

“You really don’t do inconspicuous at all well, do you.”

The blue eyes narrowed, and then crinkled, Dean’s good humoured smile was contagious. “Says the flirt who just made sure that the waitress will remember him forever...!”

\---

“I want to try and find Gabe,”  Cas said, drinking from his third coffee refill, his empty plate pushed aside.

Dean paused shovelling bacon into his mouth and stared at him.  “Do you even have any idea where he might be?”

Cas rolled his eyes as some of the bacon escaped.  “You are so gross,”  he laughed, as Dean caught the offending piece and pushed it back in.   

“We aren’t all raised with maids to teach us to count fork tines.”

“...or eat with our mouths closed, and wait till we swallow to speak?” Cas asked eyebrows raised.

“Bite me,” Dean grinned, not for the first time and Cas shook his head with a rueful little smile.

Dean made a point of swallowing and put his fork down on the table.  “So, do you?”

Cas huffed down his nose.  “Not really, but I can’t believe he’s never made any attempt to check up on Luci.  I wondered about starting there.”

“I hate to break it to you, Cas, but from what you’ve told me wouldn’t Raphael be thinking along those same lines.”

“I don’t see what else I can do.”

“I think,” Dean said slowly, “we should talk to Sammy.  There’s no-one my kid brother can’t find, when he sets his mind to it.”

\--- 

“I knew you were in trouble.”

Dean pinched his nose with his free hand, knuckles whitening as he flexed his grip on his phone.  “I’m not in trouble, Sammy.  It’s my friend that’s in trouble.  I’m just… I’m just helping him out is all.”  He could _hear_ his brother’s bitch face.  

“And for how long exactly have you known this guy?  Is this gonna be like Gordon all over again?” The anxiety made his throat constrict and his voice sounded tight and strained.

“No Sammy, Cas ain’t like Gordy.  He’s a nice guy, he don’t deserve what’s happened to him.  I told you, he needs to be somewhere safe, with someone who cares about him.  Now do you think you can help me find his brother or what?”

The silence stretched.  Finally, with a reluctant sigh Sam said flatly, “E-mail me everything you got and I’ll see what I can do.”

\---

Cas stared at the palms of his hands as he washed them in the bathroom sink.  It felt good to be out of the bandages.  Apart from the odd deep stripe of reddened skin, they were almost healed.  He was going to carry scars in a couple of places, but nothing major.  He wiped the condensation from the mirror and set about shaving his own face for the first time since getting ready to head out to meet Bal, nearly two weeks ago.  It felt odd, he had got so used to sitting on the toilet seat while Dean foamed up his face and scraped the razor over his skin, or helped him wash his hair over the bath tub. The intimacy hadn’t even felt intrusive.  He nicked himself, his fingers still a little stiff and clumsy and grabbed some tissue to spot the blood.

The motel door was opening, and he heard Dean humming Ramble On as he dropped his car keys and the bounty from his latest food run on the little table.  

“I’ve brought pie,”  Dean called.

“For breakfast?”  Cas said incredulously, wiping the last of the foam off his face and stuck his head around the bathroom door.

“Well, I was thinking more for later, but OK…if you insist...”  Dean laughed and gave Cas a shit eating grin as he shook his dark head, blue eyes narrowed.

 ---

“Vegas?  Running a hotel and casino?” Dean asked.  “That’s hardly keeping a low profile.  Are you sure?”

“Yup.” Sam’s face beamed smugly at his brother’s image on the computer screen.

Cas, sat beside Dean, shrugged.  “It does kind of sound like the sort of thing Gabe would do.”

“He’s operating under an alias, obviously, and his entire business runs in the name of Kali Enterprises.  In fact, everything is under the name of Kali Amma, his wife. I've met her actually," he added. "At a fundraiser, when I was just starting out. She's got quite a reputation as a human rights lawyer. Spends a lot of time traveling the world... I had no idea she was even married.”

Dean shook his head and turned to look at Cas.  “How long did you say your family spent looking for your brother?”

“Raph said he had investigators looking for him as soon as Dad became ill, obviously the extent of his illness was kept from the press and competitors, no-one wanted to damage the firm, but Dad so wanted to see Gabe again, Raph promised he would find him.  He still hadn’t found him six months later when he… he missed the funeral.”

“I told you Sammy’s good…” Dean began with pride.

“Much as I hate to disillusion you, big brother, he was difficult to find, but not impossible.  With Angel Inc. resources at his disposal...”

“Is it safe for Cas to go there if Raphael knows where he is?”  Dean’s face was etched with worry, missing Sam’s point.

“You don’t even think he looked, do you Sam?” Cas said slowly.   

Sam shook his head sadly.  “No, I’m sorry Cas, I don’t think he did.  And there’s something else you should know.”  Dean’s face twitched with the realisation of what was coming, he moved his arm, and Sam realised he was getting ready to drop it around Cas.  He swallowed, “I’m so sorry Cas, but Lucifer Angel was declared dead just over a year ago.”

Cas blinked back at him.  “That’s impossible… Michael was talking to his doctors every week.  I was there when he took the calls sometimes.  He was allowed to e-mail us,  I had one only a few days before…”

“Whoever was e-mailing you Cas, it wasn’t Lucifer.  I’ve seen the coroner’s report.  It was ruled a deliberate overdose, his body was found in the grounds.  There was an inquiry… he had managed to hoard his meds you see…”

\---

Cas lay staring at the ceiling.  Dean was beside him, lay on top of the covers as always.  He turned to look at him, propping his head onto his hand, elbow bent against the bed.  His hair felt strange against the sensitive fresh skin on his palm.  He stared at the sculpted lines of Dean’s face in the moonlight that streamed through a gap in the curtains.  He was so accustomed now to the weight on the bed next to him, to the sound of Dean’s breathing during the night.   The quirky smile that played on perfect bow lips as they bickered and teased each other and the way the green eyes settled on him, usually when Dean thought he wasn’t looking.  

Tomorrow they would part.  Tomorrow he would go to the bus station and climb aboard a Greyhound heading south.  He had a backpack, clothes, a cell phone loaded with credit and a pair of solid lace-up boots, all courtesy of Dean. Money: he could pay back one day, but the rest of it.  He could never repay Dean for any of the rest of it. He would be indebted to him forever.  Without his help… he wasn’t sure where he would be, but he doubted he would have found Gabe on his own.  He touched the fingers of his free hand to his own lips, and then pressed the kiss to Dean’s cheek, pretending to himself that it was only gratitude making his heartache.  With a sigh he lay back and closed his eyes, giving in to the urge to sleep.

Next to him, Dean opened his eyes, a look of thoughtful shock, giving way to a gentle smile as he too fell asleep.

\---

The parking lot of the roadside bar was still half full of cars even at this hour and his ears buzzed with the sudden change in noise level as the heavy door closed behind him.  He made his way unsteadily, the beers and shots leaving him pleasantly fuzzed without impairing him too much. That morning after they’d packed and loaded the car, he had shoved all but his last twenty bucks inside his copy of Vonnegut and put it into the pocket of the backpack.  He had made Cas promise to text him once he was safely on board and then he would reply and tell him it was there.  Cas had refused to accept the money when he tried to just give it him, but hell, he was going to need it.  Stubborn fuck.  This way he would have no choice and Dean had told himself that he would just pick up some work in the next town.  He’d managed on less than twenty bucks in the past and he could always sleep in his car if he needed to.

So now as he staggered out of the bar, he was feeling pretty pleased with himself.  One night’s hustling and he had enough money to buy himself breakfast, fill the Impala’s tank, and pay his motel bill in whatever town he found next.  He fumbled in his pocket for his phone, pushing the bundle of notes deeper into his jeans at the same time.

He found himself wondering what time Cas had caught the bus out of town.  He laughed at himself for kind of hoping that the buses weren’t running or were too full, so they could have just one more night together, maybe then he’d have the courage to say something, do something.  Maybe he should have just thrown caution to the wind and ignored his every instinct and driven Cas wherever the hell he wanted to go.  Too much to drink.  That was it.  Too much to drink, making him feel schmalzy.

The street was a darkened stretch ahead of him, the brightly lit plastic sign of the Magnolia Heights Motel, his own personal gleaming homing beacon in the distance.  The ground underfoot, gritty and sharp, scratched under the soles of his boots.

He hiccoughed and stared at the screen of his phone.  The message notification icon was sitting on his lock screen, he swiped with his thumb, but instead of opening the text, clumsy with drink he rang the number.  A sudden blow to the side of his jaw caught him off guard, spinning him around. He tripped inelegantly over a ridge in the uneven surface underfoot and his phone slipped from his grasp, skittering across the ground away from him, ending up somewhere near the curb, it’s screen a bright square of light in the gloom.

“I want my money back, you slick bastard,”  the voice was a low threatening wheeze and he stared up at the man he had made earlier.  He scrabbled backward dragging himself to his feet.  He readied himself to run but sensed someone behind him.  He was cornered, the music in the bar pounded mutely in the night air, but it was too far away to make a break for it.  He twisted through 90 degrees and backed towards the wall of the closed retail units at his rear.  Quickly trying to assess his opponents.  They were bulky.  Three stocky men, stances threatening.  He suspected the main aim was to prevent him running, while his mark took his revenge and his cash.  It was unlikely though, once these other two realised their friend was losing that they would not step in.

“He lost to me fair and square fellas.  This ain’t your fight,”  he attempted to reason with them.  It was worth a try but he could smell the faint stench of the liquor on all of them.  Drunk enough to be violent, not drunk enough to be much impaired.  Any single one of them would be no match for him, but three against one: That evened the odds somewhat.  His thoughts drifted back to the last town, this was apparently habit forming.  He shrugged inside his jacket and flexed his arms, preparing himself.

They charged him all together, this was not going to be a fair fight, by any interpretation.  Dean struggled as his left arm was grabbed and twisted awkwardly behind him.  He managed to get one strike in with his right before that too was pinned behind him.  He writhed in their grip as hick number one prowled towards him.

The first blow to his stomach winded him before two more quick jabs to his ribs took his breath away completely.  He sagged between them, as fingers twined into his short hair and dragged his head back.  He stared back at the unfocused eye mere inches from his own, gritting his teeth waiting for the next blow.  The backhander exploded his cheek and rang through his ears.

“I want my money, but I guess we can have a little fun first.”

Dean had assumed this was gonna be a beating, what he wasn’t expecting was the unbuckling of his belt and fumble to unbutton his jeans.  “What the fuck are you doing?” he yelled, realisation running cold fear into the pit of his stomach.  The adrenaline and desperation giving him strength he yanked against their hold and they grunted with the effort to hold him.  He stamped back with one leg, using his boot to smash at a knee and gouge down a shin. The howl of pain in his ear was short reward as a foot hit the back of his lower leg forcing it to bend and he dropped to his knees, arms still held in a vice-like grip.  

Vaguely, through the buzzing in his ears, he heard the roar of a familiar engine.  “Hey, Assbutts!” The hick in front of him suddenly flopped sideways, his head snapping against his own shoulder under the impact of something brandished by what he realised through his hazy vision was an enraged Castiel.  “Let him go.  Now!”

The larger of the two was already running, his smaller friend was still gripping his arm, but Dean gathered himself and threw his head sideways, making contact with the guy’s groin.  Cas stood, a broken pool cue raised above his shoulder like a golf club. Seeing Dean scrabbling to his feet, he threw his makeshift weapon down, surged forward, scooped Dean’s phone up from beside the recumbent figure on the sidewalk and grabbing Dean by the hand, he dragged him in through the open door of the Impala.  The car was accelerating hard away before Dean had even managed to pull the door shut.

\---

Victor Henriksen did not like this case.  He did not like Raphael Angel.  The Angel’s were powerful.  Old money.  Connected.  And this case stank like sour milk on a hot porch.  Something just did not add up, and Victor’s inner bullshit alarm was ringing like a klaxon.  When your grieving brother goes missing within a few days of losing a close friend and colleague you don’t wait over a week to report it.  In fact, Victor was fairly convinced that if, he glanced at his notes, Balthazar Laduz hadn’t been threatening to file a report, the family would not have bothered contacting the authorities.

He had interviewed both brothers, in the family home, the impressive palatial family home.  Every inch of the grounds was immaculately well cared for, from the neatly clipped grass, through the shining, crunching sweep of the gravel drive, and up the marble steps under a gleaming portico.  The heavy front door was solid and crafted to perfection.  Once inside every surface was expensively finished and spotlessly clean.  As if even the dust was afraid to settle.  He followed the family attorney through the marble-paved hallway into a sumptuously furnished sitting room, where the two brothers waited for him.  The family attorney just happened to be there for a spot of lunch; Right! Did they think him a total fool?

He declined the offer of a drink, introduced himself and his fellow agent, Joe Lomax.  A bright resourceful rookie, ambitious, but watchful and without ego.  Henrikson liked working with him.

He waited patiently while Raphael Angel poured three large measures of scotch from a crystal decanter sat atop a deep mahogany dresser.  He handed one to the attorney and placed another in front of Michael before sitting himself in a high backed chair at right angles to the agents on one couch and his brother and the lawyer on the other.

His presence was imposing, his body language a deliberate power play.  Henrikson felt Agent Lomax shifting awkwardly next to him.  He turned his attention to Michael first, sensing his discomfort.  He seemed genuinely worried, concerned about his brother’s mental state.  He stuttered slightly over his words, explaining about his mother and the history of instability with Lucifer.  No-one would ever accuse the Angel’s of not bearing fairly unique names.

Then Raphael had taken control of the interview and Victor knew he was going to get nowhere.  The family doctor had provided a sedative for Cas immediately after Anna’s death, he was badly shaken.  Making some vaguely accusatory and worrying statements about the family being responsible for Ms. Milton’s death.  “I think he was concerned that she may have committed suicide, because of the loss of her job.  He blamed himself and us, more specifically me.”  There was a brief look exchanged by the brothers.  A less experienced investigator might have missed it.  Michael Angel dropped his eyes as Victor scanned his face, but Raphael held his gaze, unblinkingly.  Cold bastard, Victor thought.

“So when exactly is the last time either of you saw your brother?”

“Michael had already left for Seattle to lead up a delegation.  I stayed here with Castiel.  He was quiet, spent a lot of time sleeping, or lying in his room.  We talked a little each day, but he really wasn’t in a fit state to go to work or out with friends.  He seemed to be recuperating, slowly, but then on the Friday evening when I returned from work, he was gone.  He sent me an e-mail from his phone, saying he was going to visit friends from college. Honestly, I thought it would do him good.”

“Even though you had concerns about his mental state?”  Lomax asked.

“By the Thursday he was much calmer,”  Raphael cut across Michael, who had opened his mouth to speak.  “The shock had thrown him off balance, obviously, but perhaps… my only regret… perhaps I missed the signs.”

Victor eyed Michael again.  There was something there.  Something important.  Something being hidden.  “So did you try to ring him?  Find out which friends, and where?”

“His message said he wanted some time away to think.  Castiel has always been the baby of the family, Agent Henriksen, quiet and solitary.  He often took himself off when he was a youngster, to be alone with his thoughts.  When he didn’t respond to any attempts to contact him, and his friend Laduz exhausted all of his college contacts, we contacted the authorities.”

“Ah, yes, “ Victor made a play of checking his notes.  “You, Mr Valentine rang the local PD on behalf of the family.”  

The attorney nodded.  “And they searched the house, grounds and the Angel offices, interviewed anyone they felt relevant... all I should add with the full co-operation of the family, so I think if that’s all gentlemen, both Michael and Raphael are busy men, and there is considerable upset at Angel Inc, as I am sure you can understand.”

Henriksen allowed himself to be politely, but firmly dismissed, sinking into the passenger seat of the Chrysler sedan, as Lomax dropped behind the driver seat.  “Well,”  Lomax muttered, “slicker than a BP spill.  I don’t buy a word of it.”

Henrikson glowered.  He wasn’t wrong.

\---

“Are you sure you're alright? Should I pull over? I... ”  

Dean flicked a glance across at Cas’ worried profile from the passenger seat. He needed to reassure him and pulled his lips into an approximation of a smirk, wincing when it made his jaw hurt.  “Nah,” he said, “let’s get some distance under our belt.  I’m still seeing double, and much as I hate to admit it, my baby seems to like you.”

“Your car likes me, huh?”

“Yeah, she don’t behave this smoothly for just anyone ya know.” He kept his voice light, watching some of the tension leech out of Cas.

“Sure,” Cas’ voice was laced with humour and sarcasm, “ _Baby_ _likes me.”_

“Hey,” Dean grinned.  “My baby has great taste, and she’s grateful.  You just saved my ass.”

“Oh, OK then,”  Cas laughed.  “Now it makes perfect sense.”

They lapsed into silence for a while.  Dean began checking himself over, gingerly testing his jaw and temple, fingers coming away wet from a graze on his cheekbone.

“How did you even know I was…”

Cas nodded towards Dean’s phone.  “You might wanna check how much credit you got left.  I’d just got back to the motel from town and you rang me… next thing all I’m hearing is some guy threatening you and… I saw your keys, grabbed our bags, threw them in Baby.  You were obviously on foot, so I guessed you’d be at the nearest bar… we got lucky.”

“I sure did,”  Dean thought, before shaking his head admonishing himself for being such a sap.


	5. Chapter 5

Cas drove for six hours, while Dean slept, head resting on his jacket.  He followed the US20, skirting small towns, heading West.  The Impala obligingly ate the miles. Cas, who was used to more generic modern vehicles, found her a joy to drive.  He began to understand Dean’s quirky little love affair with her, and caught himself caressing the soft age scuffed leather of the wheel under his hands.

Dean woke as the sun rose behind them,  hitting the rear view mirror, flooding the front of the Impala with reflected brilliance.  They pulled up at a small roadside kiosk on a dirt track just off the road.  Dean grabbed coffees and pastries, and they drove further along the track to a quiet spot away from the picnic area.  Dean braced himself against the bonnet, long legs crossed at the ankles, staring out at the water.  Warily Cas copied him, conscious of not scratching the deep patina of the highly polished car.  He sighed, soaking in the peace of the scene, sunlight glinting of the rippled surface of the lake.  

“I’ll take the next stint,”  Dean said as he finished his coffee.   We take it in turns today, get another 10 hours under our belt and we’ll be halfway there by nightfall.”

“Halfway where?”  The little wrinkle of confusion forming between his dark brows.

“To Vegas, dumb ass. The bright lights of sin city.”

Cas shook his head, protesting, “Just drop me at the next bus station and I’ll...”

“Nah.  You don’t have much money remember and I’m not throwing away more good money, cos you keep missing your bus…”

“I ‘missed’ my bus because I was rescuing your sorry ass, from Hillbillybob and his equally inbred cousins,”  he grumbled, taking a bite of his pastry.

“Yeah well, be that as it may. I need to meet this brother of yours, check him out so to speak.”

“This pastry is good,” Cas mumbled around his mouthful of flaky filo and almond paste.  “Why do you want to ‘check’ out my brother.  Exactly?”

“I need to make sure he’s gonna do the same kind of stellar job that I do of looking after you.”

“Really, you think he can compete with your skills.  Let me see, you very nearly ran me over, you consistently try to stunt my nutrition with your pathological avoidance of anything even vaguely healthy to eat and finally you got me involved in a bar brawl.  How exactly do you ever think Gabe could improve on that?”

“Hm,”  Dean pulled an expression of mock consideration.  “Technically you got yourself involved in a bar brawl, I didn’t ask you to play Tonto… Not that I’m not grateful,”  he added quickly, as Cas’ eyebrows made a break for the sky. “But you busted me:  The real reason I need to meet old Gabriel is to see if he’s good for the hundred bucks I wasted on your last bus ticket.”

They smirked at each other, and Cas stretched, quietly collecting their trash and strolled in the direction of a trash can.   “I could drive some more if you want me to,” he called over his shoulder.

“Nah, you look tired, Cas.  Get your head down, and take the second shift.”

\---

Night had fallen some time ago, the last motel had looked so disgusting they had jointly decided to press on further and stop at the next one, that had been two hours ago, and the empty road had stretched on with nothing but occasional dirt tracks marked with homestead names, and fields of straggly looking crops reflecting back in the periphery of the headlights.

A little convoy of trucks was passing them and Cas glanced across at Dean.  The world weary look he bore when awake dropped away with the innocence of sleep.  Long eyelashes sat against the freckles on his cheeks, even the crease of his eyelids was near perfect.  Symmetrical features, lips as finely sculpted as anything he had ever seen in marble, he was a work of art made flesh and Cas sighed. The blush of bruise, and magenta crescent of cut on his cheek above his heavy stubble somehow made him seem even more attractive.  He loved him. The realisation hit Cas hard, panicked him in truth.  How the hell had he fallen so hard, so quickly?

Somehow even the little bit of drool escaping the corner of his mouth and the little snort as he woke up was adorable.  Suddenly a pair of green eyes were open and staring back at him, and Cas blushed heavily, flustered and uncomfortable, returning his gaze quickly to the road.  “We're gonna need some gas soon,” he blurted.

Dean nodded, wiping the little damp patch from his own chin with the back of his sleeve.  Baby suddenly gave an awkward cough, and then began to splutter.  He glared at Cas accusingly, his first thought that maybe he had left it a little late to say anything about the gas tank, but the gauge was still showing just under a quarter full.

Dean uttered a curse, as with an ominous rattle, something broke loose under the hood.  “Pull her over,”  he snapped, aware as he did so that Cas had already carefully dropped her out of drive and was coasting to a halt on the shoulder. Leaning forward Dean reached down and pulled the hood release, before cracking open his door and jumping from the car.

Cas quietly followed suit, stretching, he stepped out onto the dark roadside, feeling in his pocket for the little smart phone Dean had bought him, shaking it to activate the torch function.  He joined Dean to peer at the immaculate engine bay, utterly unaware of what he was looking at. He felt the creeping flare of admiration as strong hands checked over the various components, swift and skilled.  It reminded him of watching a veterinarian checking a thoroughbred.

“It’s either the fuel pump or a clogged fuel filter, I’d guess by the noise the pump just went,”  Dean said flatly.  “Either way, we’re gonna need a tow.  It’s not a roadside fix even if I can get the parts.  S’OK, Cas,” he added, suddenly aware of just how wide and worried looking the big blue eyes had become, “you didn’t do anything, she’s a classic car.  Things go from time to time.”

“I was beginning to think maybe she didn’t like me so much after all…”

Dean huffed his little laugh and dropped his arm onto Cas’ shoulders.  “I think,”  he said with a little grin, “we might just have got lucky.”  He nodded to a sign on the roadside, half obscured with mud, and peppered with buck shot.  The wording just about visible.  Gasoline and garage services half a mile. A faint glow outlined the hillock that formed the immediate horizon as the road bent out of sight.  He slammed the hood shut with practised ease.  “Care for a little walk?”   

The gas station was an oasis of light in a dark world.  It’s wooden fairings weather-beaten, but solid.  The dust from thousands of passing vehicles coating every surface.  Cas made straight for the restrooms, while Dean walked into the shop.    

Dean was leaning against the soft wood at the side of the building when he finally opened the door and stepped back out, feeling better for washing the dust from his face and hands.  “We’re just East of a place called Lusk,” Dean said, pushing himself back upright and handing Cas one of the cans of soda he was holding.  “You made good time, but the old lady in the gas station says there’s nowhere to stay around here.  We won’t get a cab or tow at this time of night, so I guess we sleep in the car tonight and get ourselves sorted in the morning.  You OK with that?”

Cas nodded.  Dean headed into the restrooms himself, taking his time to wash and freshen up. When he came back out, there was no sign of Cas.  He walked around the little forecourt and looked up the road, thinking maybe he had started to walk back to Baby without him.  “Cas?  Cas buddy?”  He walked round the back of the building, the ground behind the gas station was rough but solid. Exasperated he checked his phone again, but there was still no signal.  “Dammit Cas,”  he muttered under his breath and walked back into the tiny shop. The old lady appeared again, blinking into the light as the curtain of beads separating the ’staff only’ from view parted around her head. “Have you seen…”  he started to ask, just as the double song of the contact strip and a sweep of headlights denoted a vehicle cruising onto the forecourt.

A battered old pickup so dusty and rust covered that it was impossible to be sure what colour it was swept past the building to the scrubby back lot, Baby trailing like an outboard dinghy in its wake.

By the time Dean had reached the back of the buildings, Cas was already shaking hands with a gangly looking kid, greasy baseball cap turned backwards on his head.  “Thanks, Garth,” Dean heard him say, and the kid with a quick nod to Dean, hauled himself back into the truck and sped away in a cloud of dust.

“He has a hot date,”  Cas said with a gummy grin.  

“Really,”  Dean said ungraciously, “ _He_ has a hot date.  Who with, his sister?”

Cas shook his head with a look of admonishment, but couldn’t help but start to laugh. “It was very kind of him to offer the tow, but he was in such a hurry I didn’t really have time to get you.  Mrs Kunsberger thinks we’d be safer out here.”

Mrs Kunsberger?  Dean stared at Cas, how long had he been in the bathroom exactly?  “Cas,” he said with a little shake of his head.  “You will never cease to amaze me.  I leave you alone for ten minutes and … At this rate, by the morning, they’ll be holding a hoedown in your honour and by Friday you’ll be running for Mayor.”  Dean grabbed blankets from the trunk, “You wanna take the back?”  Cas shrugged and rubbed a weary hand over his face.  

“To be honest, I’d probably be able to sleep perched on the tail light.”

“It’s far more comfortable inside the car, Cas.”

\--- 

They both lay in the dark, listening to the other’s breathing, separated only by the solid back of the front seat.  Cas had to admit the bench seats of the Impala were indeed extremely comfortable.  He relaxed into the smell of the car’s interior, it smelt of Dean only slightly more leathery.  Leathery.  He smirked to himself at his own inappropriate thoughts and snuggled deeper into the jacket rolled under his head to make a pillow.

\--- 

Marcy Kunsberger was making coffee.  She hummed to herself, some nameless song she had heard on the radio during the long boring night.  Since her Donald had died, she didn’t sleep much.  It had been his gas station, long before it was hers, and they had run it together for over 50 years.  Now it was just something she did.  She napped in between customers on the old day bed in the downstairs room where she had nursed him through his final illness.  She never bothered to shut the place, the contact points on the entrance chiming whenever a customer rolled off the road onto her dusty little forecourt.  She scraped a profit most months, but she didn’t really need the money.  She just enjoyed the occasional company of the travellers who stopped off here for fuel and food.

She filled her own life with their stories, either told to her or imagined.  Sometimes she saw the same people, sometimes they were brief encounters with strangers she would never see again.  She had been robbed once, and only once,  and she kept a loaded shotgun under the counter now just in case.  

The early morning sun was shining through the dusty windows, the air smelt fresh with the promise of good weather.  On impulse, she grabbed a couple of extra enamel mugs.  There was plenty in the pot, she slipped her arthritic old feet from slippers into outdoor shoes, kicked open the old screen door and shuffled across the dirt to the sleek black car parked up behind her building.

They were both still asleep as she approached, and she hesitated for a moment.  The handsome boy who had come into the station first was stretched out along the front bench, his long legs tangled in blankets.   Her heart ached briefly as she thought of her own beautiful boy, her Davy.  He looked so much like him, green eyes and dirty blonde hair, chiselled good looks.  Her beautiful Davy.  His cheeky smile peeked at her from under his baseball cap in the sun-soaked memories, decades old, of Saturday afternoons.  She sighed and clunked the enamel mug gently against the glass.  Her Donald would have told her she was a sentimental old fool for wanting to help these boys, but they were both such beautiful boys. She would have kissed his bald head and told him he was a cynical old coot.  

The other boy was burrowed in blankets in the back, a mop of messy dark hair scrunched up in a rolled up jacket.  She tapped the glass again and a pair of beautiful blue eyes blinked open, squinting against the daylight.  

“Dean,” his deep voice muffled through the glass.

“Hm?”

“We have a visitor.”

“Hm?”

“Wake up!”

“I’m awake.”  He sat up suddenly, appearing like a jack in the box above the seat.  He turned, blinking the sleep from his eyes and reaching for the window winder with arms cumbersome with slumber.  

“Thought you boys might like some coffee.  You can drink it here, or mebbe come join me in the kitchen.  S’all the same to me.”

Dean took the mugs, mouth slightly agape.  

“Thank you, Mrs Kunsberger,”  the other man said, smiling at her almost shyly from the back seat.

She shuffled back to her kitchen, climbing over the back step stiffly, hips paining her as they did most mornings.

\--- 

Dean was repacking the trunk,  his disapproval at the haphazard way Cas had thrown their belongings into the trunk communicated with a barely audible tut, and the measured way in which he had removed everything onto the dusty back lot.  At least, Cas thought, he hadn't noticed the absence of his pool cue yet.

The enamel mugs clinking loosely in his hand, Cas headed back towards the back of the building.  He knocked politely on the screen door, before gently pushing it open.  The old lady was nowhere to be seen, the kitchen was bright.  A blue and white gingham cloth on the table.  The sink was cluttered with a small pile of dishes and pans in soak.  A radio played soft easy songs in the background.  The room was full of peace and sunshine and Cas let it seep into him.  

When Marcy Kunsberger returned from her mission to change her clothes and prepare for another lonely day she paused in the doorway, listening to the dark haired, blue eyed sweetheart crooning Beyond the Sea.  His voice was soft and low as he stood elbow deep in suds in her old crock sink, working his way through her dishes.

He jumped slightly as she deliberately bumped her arm against the doorway to announce her entrance.  “You dint have to do those, sweet boy.”

He turned, and she basked in the briefest and brightest of smiles.  

“Sit,”  she said in a voice that brooked no argument.  Pulling one of her battered old kitchen chairs out with a grating sound, patting the soft blue of a seat cushion with a hand as well worn as the furniture.

\--- 

Dean glanced at the neatly stowed luggage and shut the trunk with an air of satisfaction.  He was no neat freak, at least that’s what he told himself, but his car was his domain and he was going to have to train Cas up if he was going to be… He paused, wondering where the heck Cas had got to.  He’d been gone at least twenty minutes, it didn’t take 5 minutes to return a couple of enamel mugs, let alone 20.  He sniffed, the scent of bacon wafting on the air, and his stomach gave a little growl of anticipation.  He wanted to walk into town and find a diner before they went in search of an autoparts store. He could and regularly had survived on SlimJims and jerky, but this morning, with more than a vague hint of a hangover and a day of grease and tools ahead, he wanted to eat a proper breakfast.  He wandered over to the back of the house.  

Cas was calmly sat inside, at the kitchen table.  The mugs, he had supposedly been returning, sat on the table, a hint of steam shimmering above the blue curved rims.  Goddammit.  They were supposed to be cracking on.  He shook his head and opened the screen door.

The old lady was stood at the stove, deftly flipping pancakes.  She turned and dark brown eyes, no less intense for the surrounding wrinkles gave him a look that stole the snarky remark he was about to make to Cas from his lips.  “Plates, napkins and cutlery are in the dresser,”  she stated firmly, and he meekly followed the nod of her head and began retrieving them to set the table.  Cas watched him with decided amusement. The bacon, piled in a huge blackened pan, sizzled conspiratorially.

An echoing chime announced the arrival of a customer.  Mrs Kunsberger wiped her hands on a hand towel and turned from the stove with an air of mild irritation.   “I’ll go,”  Cas said, standing quickly.  They both stared at him for a moment, Dean’s eyebrows raised in surprise.  “I worked a gas n sip while I was at college,” he explained. “I know my way around a gas station.”  

Mrs Kunsberger simply nodded.  “The cash register sticks sometimes, just tap the side with your fist and she’ll open up for you.”

\--- 

Breakfast was fantastic.  Dean sat quietly as the meal came to a close, acutely aware of his table manners.  Cas had rolled his eyes as Dean’s arm crossed over his plate, just in front of his face.  “We ask politely if we want something from the other side of the table in this house,”  Mrs Kunsberger informed him as she calmly rapped him on the wrist with her serving spoon.  So now he watched Cas, watched how his long delicate fingers handled his knife and fork, watched him using his napkin, watched how he held himself at the table, watched as he charmed the old lady with his easy manners and gentle ways.

Cas excused himself politely, as another customer arrived on the forecourt, and Dean jumped to his feet to help Mrs Kunsberger clear the table, knocking it with his knee in his scramble to get up. She smiled at him fondly and he worried at his lip with his teeth.

She was so trusting. Too trusting. She lived alone at this isolated old station and yet she had invited two strangers into her kitchen.  For all, she knew he and Cas could be a pair of serial killers, or rapists, robbers… his attention snagged on a slightly faded old picture on the wall beside the dresser.  It was a busy image, a bus in the background, young men in uniform milling about and in the foreground a family stood.  An attractive couple, stood either side of a tall young man, his arms resting easily on the shoulders of the woman.  She had been a looker, Dean thought briefly, but it was not her image that had caught his eye, it was that young man, his uniform fresh and clean, face bright and hopeful.  An easy lopsided grin.  Suddenly her instinctive trust made sense…

He cleared his throat.  “I could have a look at the register for you.  I’m … I’m quite handy… with anything mechanical, I mean.  I could maybe stop it sticking.  You could consider it payment for breakfast?”

\---

Mrs Kunsberger led Dean, via the shop, out into her husband’s workshop. His face brightened as the tube lighting revealed the extent of it in a series of increasingly bright flashes. She laughed, a sound far younger than her years, at the gleam in his eyes as he set the register down on the workbench and took it in.  It was a mechanic’s wet dream.

“Donald would have liked you, Dean,”  she said softly, patting his arm, brown eyes hazing with a weary sadness.  “My Davy was never interested in this old place, he wanted to see the world.  They were so different, my husband and my boy.  It broke his father’s heart, but he would never have told him so.  Donald was a good man.  He knew you have to be true to yourself first and foremost, and he would have loved that boy no matter what.  And Davy, he respected his father, even though he didn’t understand him.”

Dean began tinkering with the register unsure what to say.  Her confidence in him made him feel strangely emotional.  He wished he could talk to his own father.  A man who struggled to do his best, and failed, but at least he _had tried_.  He had loved his sons, and now Dean would never be able to tell him that he understood.  He understood it all.  He stared at the hand on his arm, her touch was warm, the skin soft and dry, like old parchment.  He cleared his throat, and pulled the cash drawer free, handing her the tray full of coins and notes. “This mechanism is corroded to hell.  And I think the spring is busted, but I can fix it.”

She smiled at him.  “You’re a good boy, Davy.”  He didn’t correct her little slip and turned his full attention to the job at hand as she disappeared with her money in the direction of her shop.  

\--- 

Agent Lomax was amazed.  He had been searching for incidents using the description of Castiel Angel, not really expecting any of them to bear fruit.  Having spent the last three days proving his own thesis by gradually excluding each report, he had found one that was both intriguing and worrying.

He read it again.  Brief.  He would need to contact the local sheriff’s office.   He stretched across his desk and using his pencil eraser as a stylus he dialled the numbers on his desk phone.  It whirred, and clicked, a series of old-fashioned sounds, that suggested the telephone exchange was old tech.  “Jackson County.”

Lomax introduced himself and waited patiently as the young officer connected him through to the Sheriff.  He listened, carefully making notes and after arranging a transfer of the files, he went in search of Victor.

“He was and I quote direct from the witness statement. ‘Dodging through the traffic like a jack rabbit.’  He caused three fender benders, but by the time local law enforcement arrived neither he nor the two men pursuing him were anywhere to be seen.  I’ve asked for the CCTV from the gas station.  According to the Sheriff, it’s pretty low quality, but you can still make out a young man making a break for it from the back seat.  There were three others in the vehicle.  A dark SUV.  Two of them gave chase, the third took off in the truck.”

“So,”  Victor uttered quietly, “if it is Angel, he didn’t go voluntarily.  But no ransom call?  There’s nothing to suggest he’s involved in anything criminal…”

“Maybe he escaped, so they gave up on the kidnap,” Lomax suggested.

“Then where is he now?”  Victor said.  “Why not call home?  Or his friends?”

“Maybe he’s dead.  Or they got him again.”

“But then again… ransom?  What other reason would there be for taking the youngest son of a billionaire?” Victor sighed.  His instincts told him this was probably Castiel Angel.  “Good work, Lomax.  Let’s check out the CCTV.  I think we’ll call Laduz in to make the ID on the footage.  Wouldn’t want to bother the Misters Angel… they’re such busy men.”

Lomax gave him a knowing smile and headed back to his desk.  As his office door closed, Henrikson allowed himself to rock back in his chair.  This case was getting steadily more awkward.  He had already received an e-mail from the Deputy Director containing a thinly veiled rebuke about his ‘approach to interviewing a well-respected pillar of the business community.’  

\---

Cas paused in the doorway of the workshop, fresh coffee in hand, admiring the view.  Dean was bent over his Baby, denim pulling tight against the curve of what Cas had to admit was a pretty spectacular ass.  His t-shirt had ridden up and a dirty rag hung from his back pocket.  It reminded Cas of the April in Bal’s college calendar.  April had stretched into September that year, and they’d both developed a bit of a fixation on mechanics.  The resulting role play had been disastrous and Cas laughed aloud at the memory.  

Startled Dean jerked upright, hitting his head on the underside of the car hood and breaking the illusion with a muttered. “Fuck!”  He turned slowly rubbing an oily hand against the bump, smearing grease over his cheekbone and into the edge of his hair.  Cas swallowed, illusion and reality blurring into another deliciously hot view.  He closed his eyes and willed his overactive imagination to behave itself before things got a little too obvious.

“I brought coffee,”  he said, a little unnecessarily.  It was up there with ‘I carried a watermelon’ Cas felt.  Shit, I’m channelling Frances Hausmann, he thought.

“I can see that,”  Dean murmured.  He reached for his coffee, and Cas shivered as their fingers made the vaguest of contacts.  Get a grip, he told himself.  This was getting out of hand.

He cleared his throat, “Garth has offered to take us into town.”  Dean looked at him blankly. “For the parts.  You know Garth.  Hot date boy.” Dean blinked at him, and Cas pressed on aware he was beginning to babble. “He came by this morning to check if we needed a ride.  He’s a nice kid.  He… well… he’s coming back after lunch, he’s taking his girlfriend into town and he says we can tag along and he’ll drop us at the auto shop.  If you know what you need and…”

“Cool,  give him his due the kid is a fast mover, hot date to second date in less than 12 hours,”  Dean said, setting his coffee down and flicking the rag from his pocket he wiped his hands.  “I’ll go clean up.  The pump’s shot, but it won’t take long to fit a new one.”

\--- 

Garth’s hot date was a cute little thing called Bess, who gazed at him lovingly as he drove.  Dean couldn’t quite see the attraction, but then he wasn’t into red-neck chic.  Not that Garth had red-neck build, he was scrawny and angular, like a foal that had never grown into its limbs.  That was hardly his fault, the state of his truck, however… well, that was and his truck was, in Dean’s considered opinion, a death trap.  “The God’s are trying to kill us,”  he murmured, gripping the handrail as the battered old truck bumped through town.  Cas had become increasingly amused, as he watched knuckles whiten and Dean actually flinched as they hit a couple of pot-holes just outside town.  Cas had never seen him so far out of his comfort zone.  It was actually fun watching Mr Uber-Cool losing his shit a little.

Dean braced his legs against the side rail, convinced that if he pushed too hard on the floor, the rust bucket might actually give way and he would see nothing but chassis and the road surface flashing by.  

Dean’s mood did not improve any as he trudged back from the hardware store.  The part he needed was not only out of stock, the next available delivery slot was two days away and they still had to travel back in the battered old truck.

“The God’s are not only against us, they are determined to keep us in Lusk forever.”  

“Make your mind up,”  Cas flashed a grin at him.  “They either want to kill us or keep us.  The two aims are not compatible.”  

“The ancient gods are well known for their capriciousness,”  Garth said.  Bess sighed and if anything the adoration in her gaze intensified.

Dean’s eyes narrowed.  Sweet kid or not, Garth was … irritating the shit out of him.  He glanced across at Cas, but the good humour was gone, he looked haunted, lost in thought.

\--- 

Keep him or kill him.  That was Raphael’s decision.  He shuddered, fear flooded through him.  Kill or keep him, keep him or kill him.  The words he had overheard in the SUV rattled through his mind.

_“We could always off him out here somewhere, dump the body where no-one will find it.”_

_“This has to look like a simple disappearance, besides he hasn’t decided for definite yet.  This is his family after all.”_

_“Didn’t stop him last time.”_

His mother had died far too long ago for those three to be involved, and someone as clever and conniving as Raph would surely not let some hired goon know his every secret.  So who had they meant?  Their father had been getting better… Oh dear God, surely even Raph wouldn’t have…

“ _Didn’t stop him last time.”_

_“This is family after all.”_

Luci? Dad? … both?

Warm fingers slid between his own, and his hand was squeezed.  He snapped back from his thoughts onto a badly sprung back bench, in a rusty old pick up, bouncing down a badly maintained back road in Wyoming.  He looked at his hand, almost startled.  

Garth and Bess were singing, alternating lines.  Her voice pleasant, his dreadful.  

“When the moon is in the seventh house”

“And Jupiter aligns with Mars”

“Then peace will guide the planets”

“And love will guide the stars…”

Cas curled his fingers, the soft fresh skin of his palm extra sensitive to the sensation.  He squeezed back, tethered in this safe little oasis by a warm solid grip.  He looked at Dean.  His face was a study of blankness, until he winked at Cas and leant towards him,  shoulder brushing shoulder, he whispered.  “Stay with me buddy,  I need you. They’re tryna rope me into providing the harmonies.”


	6. Chapter 6

“You fill her up, I’ll go pay Marcy for the gas and grab some supplies for later.”

The ancient gas pump gurgled and whirred as Cas held the nozzle into Baby’s tank.  It finished with a kick back, and Cas rehoused it on it’s newly fixed (by Dean) hook.  He leant against the sleek black car, wiped the gas from his hands on paper towels.  The door of the station gave a two-tone beep as Dean strolled out, haloing him with reflected sunlight (dust and years of accumulated smudges and grime removed courtesy of Cas’ own elbow grease) as it closed behind him, distinctive bow-legged gait, silhouetted against the brightness of the light.

“She’s coming out to say goodbye,”  Dean said climbing into the driver’s seat.  “...again.”

Cas nodded and clambered in beside him. It was just under three weeks since the enamel coffee mugs had first clinked on the passenger window.  The gas station gleamed, clean, freshly painted in places and every little niggly job that needed doing had been well and truly jobbed.  “It’s all the same to me…”  Marcy said softly when Cas told her gently that they had to leave, “but you’ll always have a place here.”  This morning so far, they had both already been enveloped in bony hugs.  Had their cheeks patted.  Had their hair smoothed.  Dean’s chin still bore a smudge of coral lipstick.  Cas removed it with a swipe of his fingers, prompting a confused glance, which melted into a little smile, as he flashed his pink slicked fingertips.

She leant forward, peering through the driver’s window, at them both.  “You drive careful now boys.” She blinked and straightened herself up, her hand resting briefly on Dean’s arm as it lay along the window. “Together or not,” she muttered softly so that only Dean heard her. “It’s all the same to me.”  Dean sighed, raising his hand to wave, before flexing his fingers into the drainage rail above the driver’s door.  She stood at the edge of her tiny forecourt, sending them off with a cheery smile, three homemade pies and a pot-roast.  Cas turning round in his seat, waving through the rear window, as the roadside dust swirled up and she disappeared into the distance behind them.

Raphael glowered at the man in his office.  Zachariah Adler shifted uncomfortably in his seat, watching the lithe, elegantly suited figure prowling the room with barely concealed rage bubbling just below the veneer of cool sophistication.

Adler was also not used to being thwarted.  His particular ‘skill set’ had proved extremely lucrative.  His careful efficiency and ability to ‘fix’ any situation had made him an indispensable resource and Raphael had demonstrated his faith in him by giving him a salaried position, his role, utterly bogus of course, gave him an outward appearance of respectability.  All of that was now in peril and he had made certain that both of his associates were in no doubt that if he went down, they were going with him.  

It was still he who had to face Raphael Angel’s wrath.  The gravel rash on his hands itched, despite his best efforts with antiseptic creams and ointments it had become infected, and stubbornly remained unhealed, an irritating physical reminder of his moment of failure.  He had flown back overnight for this little conference, leaving Uriel and Carter following up on a promising lead.

“We are confident,”  Adler felt the sweat prickling under his collar, as he exaggerated their position, “that we are closing in on him.”  Raphael did not speak, his pacing continued.

Adler swallowed.  “Carter is using his contacts within law enforcement.  There was an altercation in a town a few hours drive from his last known whereabouts.”

“You mean from the side of the highway where you let him escape?” Raphael’s voice was low and dangerous.

Adler picked at a piece of dander on his suit leg. “Your brother hospitalised some local thug.  Beat him about the head with a pool cue.”

“Castiel? In a bar fight?”

“Yes. Not exactly.  The ‘victim’ got hustled.  Some guy took him for several hundred bucks according to the bartender.”

“Castiel?”

“Oh, no, some other guy.  Called himself Allen, Rick Allen.  There was a fight outside the bar.  Your brother came driving to the rescue in a big old muscle car, like the lone ranger. Obviously, the local police don’t know who their suspect is, but Carter got an ID on Castiel from one of the guy’s friends.  He was last seen driving off with ‘Rick’.  It appears they spent the previous week holed up in a motel in Wausau, Wisconsin.”

“Well, well,”  Raphael said softly.  “Isn’t my little brother just full of surprises.  Where is he now?  Have you traced Mr Allen?”

Adler uncrossed his legs and hitched the fabric away from his knees. “Carter is on it.”

“I didn’t ask you about Carter.”  Raphael moved with a speed and aggression, closing the distance between them so fast that it shocked Adler even though he was expecting something like it.  “I need him found,”  he growled, his face inches from Adler’s. His arms braced either side of him, caging him in his seat.  “You are not the only ones who believe you know something about his whereabouts.  I am expecting a visit from Agent Henrikson. He too believes he has a ‘sighting’.  He has CCTV footage and used that idiot Laduz to confirm it’s Castiel.  Unfortunately for you, his sighting has lead him to begin working on the theory that Castiel may have been kidnapped, by three individuals in a dark SUV.  More fortunately for you, it’s not good enough quality to even ID the make and model, let alone the plates.”

Adler swallowed slowly, feeling his resentment rise.  He wasn’t an idiot, even if they’d made the plates they were false, and the vehicle was already disposed of, but this was not the time to say anything to antagonise his boss.  He waited for Raphael to withdraw from his personal space but instead found himself concentrating on not flinching as hot breath and spittle hit his cheek.  “So I find myself repeating… and we both know how little I like repeating myself...I need him found and he needs to be identifiable.”  Finally, Raphael stood back, regaining some of his composure.  “Perhaps, Mr Rick Allen may prove to be a godsend.  After all, to be kidnapped, you need a kidnapper.”

Adler raised himself quickly to his feet, no force in heaven or hell would compel him to explain to Raphael Angel that ‘Rick Allen’ was an alias.  He highly doubted that the one-armed drummer of Def Leppard could even play pool, much less well enough to hustle.  “I’m flying back tonight.”  He pulled his jacket straight and moved to leave.

“And Adler...”  He paused to look at Raphael.  “It would be unfortunate if Henrikson or some other branch of the law were to reach Castiel first.  I don’t like to think what might happen if he was in a position to actually tell anyone his side of the story…”

\--- 

The roadhouse and attached motel looked anonymous enough if a little run down. Dean parked baby in front of the long single-storey wing, brass numbers on every door.  It was one step up from a room by the hour establishment, but it was a short man’s step, not a stride.

The key ring was shaped like an anchor.  Dean just knew even before he opened this door, they were going to be in a themed room hell.  

\---

They stood side by side.  The setting sun warm on their backs, casting their shadows long into the room.  

“Wow,”  Cas said softly after interminable moments had passed. “That is… erm… that is…”

“...fan-fricking-tastic,”  Dean finished for him, voice dry and unenthusiastic.

Every item of furniture in the room was nautical.  The seating area, made up of two reclaimed angling seats, complete with rod stands converted to hold flat trays for drinks, was separated from the sleeping area by a screen, fret cut with tiny anchors and seashells.  

Dean broke first.  Striding forward he fumbled for the light switch, set on checking the bed.  His motto after years of these places was simple.  The decor didn’t matter a damn when you shut your eyes.  If the bed was comfy, that was all he needed.

Cas closed the door behind him, and the effect of clicking that switch was truly spectacular.  A chandelier hung in the centre of the room,  so overwhelmingly huge in the small space every surface seemed to burn his eyes.  

“Holy shit!”  Dean spluttered.  His mouth hung open.

The interior decorator, obviously frustrated that you couldn’t put hammocks in a roadside motel had decided on the next best thing.  The bed.  Enormous, made from what looked like reclaimed shipping planks, was hanging from the ceiling by chains, entwined with mooring ropes.  It was neatly tethered to the wall at the headboard end, using mooring cleats, a little line of boat fenders, protecting the cladding, clearly designed to look like a dock.  On closer inspection, it had even been painted with tiny barnacles.

Cas stared at Dean, whose face was contorted with a mixture of horror and creeping admiration at the sheer ingenuity of it all. It was, without doubt, the most spectacularly terrible motel room he had ever seen.  And he had seen so many.  Cas started to laugh.  Deep uncontrollable guffaws.  Dean stared back at him, and an idiotic grin spread across his features as he too started to crack. They each clutched at their ribs, unable to breathe.  Every time one or the other regained control of themselves, they shared a look or caught sight of some new horror, pointing and unable to speak, setting the other off again.

Finally, slowly, they pulled themselves together.  Moving around each other with the easy familiarity they had found from spending nearly every minute of the last six weeks together.

“It’s definitely not Marcy’s spare room,”  Cas observed, dropping carefully onto the bed and testing the mattress.  He carefully avoided looking at the ships wheel coffee table, inscribed with HMS Titanic, which had last set him off in spasms of painful laughter.  The muscles of his cheeks still ached slightly from the pull of laughing so hard for so long.  “But I guess the bed is comfy enough… hey, bed: ‘Singular’” he snapped his head round to stare at Dean, who blushed.  Stepping backwards fingers hovering over the handle of the bathroom door.

Cas raised one eyebrow, arching high over his left eye, and the blush spread deeper, flushing from high spots on his cheeks to flare across his face, and into his neck.  Dean’s tongue licked along the line of his bottom lip and still, Cas held his gaze, “It’s 10 bucks cheaper a night,” he said, gripping the door handle like a lifeline. “...and I figured as you were still having the nightmares, and you seem to settle quicker if I… if I…” he was blushing so deeply now that his freckles seemed to be hovering like botts dots in a heat shimmer, “well if I get there quick enough, you don’t even really wake up...and…dammit.”  He rubbed his hand across the back of his neck, feeling the heat blazing from his own skin.  He realised Cas was grinning at him and turned quickly slamming the bathroom door behind him, as the dark-haired monster started to chuckle.

“Son of a bitch,” he muttered under his breath, shaking his head and smirking.  He turned on the shower and started to strip.

\---

The bar was busy.  The clientele mixed, ages, types.  Dean laughed,  now it was Cas who looked hesitant and uncomfortable.  “Anyone would think you’d never been in a bar before…” he murmured.

Cas glared at him briefly, but there was no malice in it.  “I’ve been in plenty of licenced establishments,”  he remarked.

“Yup,”  Dean smirked at him, “but no proper _bars._ I don’t mean places that serve cosmos and charge you ten bucks to hold your coat for the evening.”

“I was at college, Dean,”  Cas pointed out.  “And, despite everyone’s belief to the contrary, I did my fair share of exploring the real world.  It wasn’t all black tie dinners.”  He still hung close by Dean’s side as they picked out a table.

\--- 

Dean’s mobile purred, sliding across the table.  He grabbed it and swiped the screen.  Face jumping into an excited expression.  “No kidding.  Well… what are you doing talking to me… get back in there… Oh, I see… Yeah well, look after her you … OK OK… I will… as soon as I’ve dropped Cas in Vegas, I’ll drive down to you… Congratulations  Sammy.  Now that I am glad about… go kiss him for me.  No, me either.  I can’t wait… No Sam, honestly… You’re gonna be the best Dad kiddo.”

“I take it…”

“I’m an Uncle, Cas.  I have a nephew.  8 pounds 10 ounces of healthy baby boy.  Jess is fine.  A bit sore, but that’s her own fault for mating with a moose.  Jesus.  A boy.  Oh God… I’m an Uncle…”

Cas laughed.  “Have they chosen a name?”

“So far little fella is going by Baby Winchester,”  Dean said, still beaming.

“Sweet,” Cas giggled, “they named your nephew after your Impala.”

\--- 

Dean missed the keyhole twice with the key.  The third time he managed to twist them round in his hand so that the anchor was not getting in the way.  Cas took the keys from him and was only just slightly more successful.

A few beers had morphed into a few beers with chasers, which had morphed into straight shots.  Dean giddy on the news of his brother’s family, Cas giddy on Dean’s joy.  They held each other up, staggering under each other’s weight into the motel room.  Dean bashed his shin on one of the outstretched hand grips on the titanic coffee table, and tripped forward onto the bed, dragging Cas down with him onto the bed, which swung precariously under them.

He kicked off his boots and jeans and dragging his t-shirt, shirt and jacket over his head in one crumpled skin of clothing.  He pushed back the covers, rolling sideways onto the other half of the bed and lay staring at the ceiling.  “I’m an Uncle,” he told the chandelier.  Cas laughed and tried to push himself up to get off the bed.  Dean grabbed his arm, pulling him back, and then as Cas flopped back onto the pillow he reached out. His touch was hesitant, gentle.  Skin on skin contact so light, the briefest haze of fingertips, barely there, leaving a tingling trail of nerve endings down the side of Cas’ cheek and the curve of his neck under his ear over the soft fabric of his shirt and along the length of his lower arm. Cas shivered, suddenly heady with need, he turned his head and brushed his lips against the curved warmth of Dean’s shoulder, their fingers tangling together.  As Dean rolled back into the contact a spring deep in the mattress shifted, surprisingly loud against the quiet percussion of their breathing.  The gap between them closed painfully slowly.  

They stared at each other through the gloom.  Dean propped up on one elbow, Cas with his head sinking into the pillow.  Interlaced fingers flexing and tightening, each using their thumb to stroke and explore the other’s hand.  It was too much and not enough all at once, and Cas could take it no longer.  He pulled hard and Dean gasped overbalancing onto him, fingers gripped, all he could do was lean his weight onto their linked hands, pinning Cas to the bed, the bed chains clinking gently as the sudden movement snatched at the ridiculous mooring cleats  The hardness of his erection undeniable as it pressed into Cas’ angular hip.

“That,” he whispered softly, “is cheating.”

“I’m sick of playing fair,”  Cas replied. “You want me.”  He felt the heat of the blush through his neck and cheeks.  “And I want you.”  He twisted himself and pressed up into the soft pudge of Dean’s stomach to prove his point, biting back the little groan of pleasure as Dean,  rolled his hips giving them both just a little relieving friction.

“Now kiss me, you stupid fucker…”

“Potty mouth,”  Dean murmured.

“So give it something else to do.”

The first contact of lips on lips was subtle, chaste.  Touchpaper lit, arousal flaring and surging unchecked, the kiss deepened, became bright and alive with want, and they rutted into each other, groaning and panting, all hot breath and messy tongues.

It was Dean, who broke it briefly, pulling back and waiting until he could see Cas open his eyes, deep indigo in the half-light.  Puzzled at the sudden stop, Cas looked at him, those little creases forming between his eyebrows. Little creases that Dean ached to kiss away.  “Are you sure?”  he muttered.  “I mean… really… sure.  We have been drinking...”

Cas rolled his eyes, voice full of impatience, “Jesus wept Dean, just fuck me already, or I swear to God, I’ll strip you myself and take you over that monstrosity of a coffee table.”

“I quite like…” he did not get to finish the sentence, about the kitsch merits of the Titanic-themed furniture, as with a growl and surprising strength, Cas threw him off balance and tipped him onto his back.  He gasped at the suddenness of the move and groaned as sharp teeth nipped his earlobe and sucked bruises down his neck.  “Oh my God, Cas.”

“Hm, not quite a deity,”  Cas smirked, pausing, a glint of victory in his eyes, “but I am an Angel.”

Dean gave a huff of amusement, cut short by another vicious nip, this time pinching sharply into the meat of his shoulder, just above his collarbone.  He yelped, and then moaned, as Cas lapped the forming bruise.

“Remind me next time we make out to feed you first,” he murmured.  

\--- 

Michael glanced at the image of his father staring down at him from the wall. flickering light from the fire suited his mood.  He had turned out the lights, nursing a deep tumbler of his father’s best scotch.  He breathed in the smell and stared into the amber dancing in his glass.  The smell made him feel closer to the old man, reminded him of evenings spent in his pyjamas and robe, feet tucked up under him on the heavy old couch, Gabe beside him and Luci curled on their father’s lap in the chair while Chuck told them stories about _their_ mother.  Bedtime stories to keep her memory alive.  Raphael was away at college by then, already flexing his intellect and treating his younger brothers with disdain for not having outgrown such childish needs.  But Michael never tired of hearing those stories.  Little sweet snippets of memory.  Chuck never sanctified her, she was not some saintly creature in these stories.  “Warts and all, boys.  Oh, but they were beautiful warts, and I loved her for them.”  Michael smiled and sucked a slither of the scotch through his teeth.  Always scotch in Chuck’s study; never bourbon.

He raised his glass to the ghost of Charles, with little Luci, sensitive, sweet Luci curled into him in the chair.  Blonde hair wrapped around fingers too long and elegant for a toddler, drifting to sleep, cocooned and warm, sucking his thumb.  Ghosts of own lost childhood, dancing in the firelight.

Now they were all gone and he was alone.  The emotion behind the thought caught him by surprise.  Raphael was still here, but Michael realised with a jolt, that it was no comfort.  He respected his older brother for his business acumen, for his abilities, but actually… he didn’t like him.  Loved him, he was his brother, but like him… no.  He sighed, bottom lip twitching, and set his glass down on a coaster.  Cas had been so determined.  So adamant.  Was it possible?  Was he really being played?  He had always trusted Raphael, but was it just because it was easier? He was happiest talking to people in the firm, spending his time with the ones who ‘did’ things.  Dad had understood this, let him play to his strengths.  

He sighed and was struck with a sudden resolve.  He was going to find Gabe.  He had been surprised once the news of his father’s death had hit the media that Gabe didn’t show up.  Raphael had used that security man to try and find him… what was his name… a grey fellow… Atkins?  Hadland?  Tomorrow he would talk to him and find out just what leads he had.  

\--- 

The bar was relatively crowded.  They were both starving, only waking when the maid hammered on the door just after 11.  Grumbling Dean staggered out of bed, and hastily shoved money at her to give to the concierge for another night, before lazily climbing back in and snuggling back into Cas.

Cas was willing to grab something quick and eat on the move, but Dean insisted that they eat properly.  “I need food, Cas.  I had quite a workout.  Besides we already paid for another night.”

“You fell asleep, dribbling into your pillow, after kissing me into a frenzy.  That is not my definition of a workout.”

“Yeah well OK, granted.  I’m still hungry, unlike you I didn’t partake of the human feast,”  he sniped, pulling his shirt aside to flash the bruise on his shoulder.  Cas blushed and glanced around him to see if anyone had noticed, smacking Dean’s fingers with affectionate exasperation.  “I have a few interesting marks of my own, but I think I’ll keep them under wraps!”

He shook his head and gave a little chuckle as Dean tipped nearly half a bottle of ketchup over his fries.  “What?”  Dean said, giving him his cheesiest smile.  “It’s made of tomato.”

“You know just cos it’s made with tomato, it doesn’t really count as vegetables,”  Cas informed him, with quiet authority.

“Says the burger addict…” he froze mid-sentence, the smile dropping from his face and the hand poised to stuff fries into his mouth stopped inches short of his target, his green eyes fixed at a point somewhere over the bar.

Cas turned, still half laughing and followed the direction of his gaze.  At first, he didn’t see it, the bar was fairly busy with patrons.  Plaid-clad middle-aged men, some in baseball caps, some bare-headed lined along the mahogany counter perched on stools and quite a few of the tables occupied with couples, a gang of college kids hung in one of the booths.  The gaudy little red and white check plastic table covers, dotted with glasses and food.  A typical bar in a typical town on a typical Saturday lunchtime… The TV over the bar was on the news channel, no-one was paying it particular attention, which was fortunate, as it cut back from the anchor to show again the picture that had caught Dean’s attention.  A pleasant smiling face, dark hair neatly styled and a pair of bright blue eyes gazed out of the screen above a scrolling ticker tape, ‘Fears grow as evidence mounts that missing Angel heir may have been kidnapped’

\--- 

Cas dropped onto the bed, face still ashen.  Dean grabbed the TV remote and flicked through the channels trying to find a rolling news programme.  He found one and raised the volume.  Raphael’s urbane voice filled the air, expressing his fears for his brother, and Dean grabbed Cas’ hand as he flinched at the sound of it.  The last time he had heard that voice, he was being pinned down while his older brother looked on, giving instructions to make sure he disappeared.

“It’ll be OK, Cas,”  Dean’s voice was little more than a whisper.

“How can it be OK? My face is all over the TV, he’s going to find me.”  He withdrew his hand sharply, jumped to his feet and began to throw his things into his bag. “I have to leave.  Now.”  

“What?  Cas, no… wait.”

“Don’t you understand, Dean?  Kidnapped! He is going to find me, and kill me and blame it on you.  That’s what he does, he manipulates and twists and pulls strings, and he won’t stop.  He has nothing to lose.  He knows I know, that’s why he’s doing all this.  God, I can’t believe I was so stupid, thinking I could just hide… I have to go...  I’ve put you in enough danger already.”

“Cas, you won’t last five minutes on your own.  We’ll move on, I can find us somewhere to lie low, and you can stay out of sight.  Like we did that first week.  I can look after you…find us somewhere safe...”

Cas shook his head.  “Nowhere is safe.”


	7. Chapter 7

Sam stared at the tiny infant lying on his side in the cot.  Jess was sleeping.  Her labour whilst not excessively long (they had barely made it through the doors of the hospital when her waters broke and his beautiful son was giving full vent to his lungs within the hour) the combination of medication and exertion had left her feeling exhausted.

His brother had sounded genuinely excited, and Sam could not wait to show him his nephew.  John Dean Winchester.  JD.  He did not want to tell Dean over the phone of his intention to name his son this way.  It required a face to face conversation and a good deal of explanation, but becoming a father himself had given Sam a new perspective on his own father.  A tiny tongue moistened tiny lips and his little hands formed tiny fists as he woke.  Eyes too new to focus far, already hazing from newborn blue.  “Easy champ,”  Sam said softly, lifting him from the cot and kissing his downy head.  “Just cos we named you for your Uncle Dean, doesn’t mean you have to start demonstrating his personality traits straight off.  Who you getting ready to fight?”

He snuggled him gently and turned towards his wife’s bed.  She lay peaceful and beautiful, blonde hair spread across her pillow.  He did not want to disturb her, but she had not yet used the painful looking contraption to allow him to share the feeding.  He settled them quietly together.  “I’m gonna grab myself a coffee,”  he told her softly.  “Want anything?”  She shook her head, engrossed in her tiny son.

He padded down the hallway in his stocking feet.  Hardly anyone was moving about at this late hour.  He fumbled through his pockets finding change, staring at the sparkling clean top of the vending machine.  With his height, he was used to seeing layers of grime on top of these things.  Kudos to the maternity unit.  They sure kept the place scrupulously clean.  He selected his drink, allowing himself a double shot of caffeine instead of decaf.  He used the cold water feed to take it down to drinking temperature and sipped at it as he walked back past the recreation room.  A nervous man was rubbing his wife’s back as she wandered about, clearly in the early stages, using the tv as a distraction from the increasingly intense contractions.

Sam swallowed convulsively.  Gripping the paper cup a little too tightly and sloshing the hot black liquid over his fingers.  He stared at the news report for a few more moments and then felt at his pockets, swearing lightly when he realised he had left his phone in his jacket in the hospital room.

\---

Carter was smiling smugly.  He handed Adler a dossier as he slid into the passenger seat of the nondescript saloon they were currently using.  Adler opened it impatiently.   “Well, well,”  he said,  “I guess a well done is in order.”

He dropped the dossier on the seat between them and turned the ignition.  The mug shot of a sandy-haired youngster, with soft chiselled features and green eyes, slid out onto the floor, as Carter entered the zip code of an auto parts shop in Lusk, Wyoming into the satnav.

“You better ring Uriel,”  Adler told him.  Tell him head West and to keep his eyes open for a black four-door Chevy Impala, with a Kansas licence plate KAZ 2Y5.”  

 ---

Dean answered his phone.  “Hey Sammy,” he said with forced cheeriness.

“I know, Dean.  I saw the news report.”

“Shit Sammy.  I’m sorry, I didn’t want to worry you… not now… not at the moment.”

“I’m your brother Dean.  The last time you kept something secret from me… it nearly killed us both.”  He kept his voice light, but Dean could hear the anger… and the hurt, just beneath the surface.”

“I am sorry, Sam.  I...”  

“It doesn’t matter, what are you going to do?  Is there anything I can do to help?”

“Yeah, stay safe.  I’m gonna get Cas to Vegas.  He was ready to run out on me when he saw the news report, but I think I’ve calmed him down.”  He glanced across at his passenger, only continuing once he was sure Cas was still asleep. “Are we sure that Raphael doesn’t know where Gabe is?”

“As sure as we can be.  Has Cas rung him?”

“He doesn’t wanna risk it until we get closer.  It’s kind of a big deal, ya know.  Tracking down the brother you haven’t seen for over a decade.  Especially when he was a no-show for the funeral.  Cas is worried that he won’t want to see him.  It’s not really a phone call kind of conversation to tell him about all this shit.”

“Well no,”  Sam agreed.  “Dean, you will call me if you need me, won’t you.  I don’t want you to think, just because… well… you’re my brother Dean.  I’m here for you.  You and Cas… ”  He paused, not sure how to proceed.

“OK, Samantha, don’t get your panties in a knot.”  He sighed.  “Cas and me ain’t gonna be a problem.”  He added a little defensively, annoyed that his brother could read him so easily.

“Just promise me. You know I can help.  No bull shit about protecting me, or not bothering me...this little guy needs his Uncle, as much as I need my brother… I need you to promise me.”

Dean caught sight of the ghost of a smile on his own lips, illuminated by his phone screen, in the reflection in his car window, as he dropped his voice. “I promise… bitch.”

He heard Sam sigh.  “Jerk.”  And the phone line went dead.

In the passenger seat, Cas lay listening to the steady engine noise, and the low music, trying hard not to think about having to say goodbye.

\--- 

The auto shop opened at 10.  Adler was humming softly to himself, picking more imaginary dander from his suit.  Carter hated Adler.  The guy was a creep, but, _man,_ the pay was good, and a former cop, ex-grunt with a dishonourable discharge under his belt, was not exactly in high demand in any legitimate job market.

They had been sitting side by side in this car for hours, both during the drive and since they had arrived first thing this morning.  Carter was all for breaking in and stealing the information they needed, but Adler was determined that there was no point risking any kind of entanglement with law enforcement.  The shop would open at 10 and they could simply walk in and get the information.  

A small man in blue overalls climbed out of a dusty pickup.  Did anyone around here drive anything else?  He dragged a huge bunch of keys from a chain attached to his belt and began unlocking the shutters on the retail unit.  “Showtime, Carter.”  

Carter rolled his eyes and removed himself from the car.

“Sure, Officer Powers,”  the auto shop owner was an honest man, he answered Carter straight, no sign of any concern.  “I remember; fuel pump for a 67 Chevy Impala.  A 502, wasn’t so easy to get one out here.  Don’t see a lot of Impalas out this way.  I took it out to the Kunsberger place myself.   Donald was a good customer, he ran a small repairs business you see… not an engine on the planet Donald couldn’t fix.”

“Kid working on the car knew his stuff, too.  It was good to see Donald’s old workshop up and running.  And Marcy was obviously enjoying having him there.”

“So this kid… this him?”  Carter flashed the image of Dean.

“Yeah, that’s him.  A little older, I say kid, but late 20’s is a kid to me.  He’s the spit of Davy Kunsberger.  If I didn’t know better I’d have thought it was him fixing that old car.  Officer Powers, is he… he won’t… he’s not dangerous, is he?… only Marcy.  She’s tough, don’t get me wrong, but she’s an old lady now and she… well she gets a bit confused at times, she’s vulnerable, you know.  And Donald was my friend as well as…”

“Nothing to worry about I assure you, we just need to ask him a few questions.”

\--- 

Adler’s face twitched as Carter got back into the car.  He let his earpiece drop down onto his shoulder and wriggled his pinkie in the hole.  Another habit that grated on Carter.  “So, a gas station on US20.  I think we need to pay Mrs Kunsberger a little visit.”

\--- 

Dean drove Baby down the increasingly bumpy track, pulling her into a little stand of trees behind the old barn.  It was a place he had found a few years ago.  Long abandoned, way too far from everywhere to even be attractive to kids, or necking couples.  He woke Cas gently.  “I’m gonna take a slash,”  he said crudely, “We’ll sleep through the day, and drive the rest of the way into Vegas tonight.  Far less chance you’ll be seen or recognised in the dark.  Fancy some pie?”

Cas smiled, hoping he was hiding just how sad he felt.  “Pie for breakfast?  Again?”

\--- 

Standing just beside the pumps on her tiny forecourt, Marcy Kunsberger peered at the badge flashed at her by ‘Officer’ Powers.

“How can I help you Officer?” she said politely.  Her brown eyes taking in every detail of his appearance, and scanning the darkened windows of the vehicle he had just left.

“I’m working a missing person’s case, I need to try and trace the whereabouts of a black Chevy Impala last seen heading down US20 sometime in the last few weeks. I don’t suppose if you remember if it stopped to refuel here.”

Marcy looked him straight in the eye.  “No, I don’t think so.  An Impala, eh?  I’d remember a sweet ride like that.”

In the car, Adler listened intently.  Interesting.  She was lying.  Why?

“You know a lot about cars, Mrs... er...sorry I didn’t catch the name,”  Carter said softly.

“That’s because I didn’t give it, Officer Powers.  It’s Mrs Kunsberger.”

“Does anyone else work the station for you?  An employee perhaps.”

“No, it’s just me.”

“I don’t see any CCTV,” Carter said, looking about him.  “You maybe record any footage, we could see if the car passed by.”

Marcy shook her head.

Clever Carter, Adler thought.  Now we know she has no-one here with her and there will be no footage of us being here either.  He was impressed by Carter’s quick thinking, he was a pain, but it was worth the minor annoyance he caused when he worked this well.

“A missing persons case you say.  These men you’re looking for.  They have names?” Carter sighed. He hadn’t mentioned gender at all, let alone men plural.  But Carter kept his powder dry.  In the car, Adler shifted in his seat.  This was not going to work out at all well for Mrs Kunsberger.

“Man singular,” Carter corrected. “He does, but we think he uses aliases.  He is just most likely a witness.  We just need to ask him if he saw anything on his travels.”

“Do you have a licence plate for this Impala?  I write them all down see, in my log book by the till.”  She smiled at him disarmingly,  “My memory ain’t always what it should be. I might have made a mistake.”

She turned and headed inside her little shop.  Carter followed out of Adler’s sight.  He heard Carter’s footsteps on the tiles, as Mrs Kunsberger continued her monologue.  There was a slight bang.  “...it’s definitely here somewhere… ah, there it is…now before I hand this over, could I have another look at that badge… for my records, you know…only I didn’t manage to catch which office you work out of…” He heard Carter make a sudden intake of breath “...you lying piece of scum.”

“Put the gun down Mrs Kunsberger, you don’t want to…”

“If you’re a lawman, I’m Miss America,”  Marcy Kunsberger continued.  “I already spoke to the law when I saw Cas on the news during the night.  And they’re on their way here right now to speak to me, I’m expecting an Agent Lomax to take my statement, just as soon as he can get here, so you can just very slowly take out that fake badge and whatever firearm you’re hiding and put em down there, while we wait for the real deal.”

Adler clenched his jaw so hard he felt one of his teeth almost crack.  He opened the door quietly and climbed from the car, pulling his gun from the glove box and scanning the building. There was no separate building and they already knew that she lived out here, so there must be a back entrance.  He began to make his way to the back.  There was no way that Marcy Kunsberger could be allowed to talk to Henrikson or any of his team.

He edged his way around the side of the building, listening all the while as Carter kept her talking, slipping in little comments about the layout of the shop.  Why don’t you just step out from behind the counter Mrs Kunsberger?  Maybe we could go through that curtain and sit down nicely while we wait for my colleagues to come and clear up this little spot of confusion, Mrs Kunsberger.  We’ve had to be careful what information we give potential witnesses, Mrs Kunsberger.  It’s such a high profile case.  On and on he kept talking.  

“Oh, why don’t you just zip it, young man.  Cas was no kidnap victim, he could have left Dean anytime he wanted.  Dean would do anything for him, driving him clear across the country to find his brother.  It’s all just some stupid misunderstanding.”

Adler opened the screen door as quietly as he could and edged his way through the sunny kitchen.  He could hear in stereo now, vaguely disoriented he let the earpiece fall onto his shoulder again and raised his firearm.  A two-tone beep sounded, and he heard the crash as Carter tried to tackle the old lady.  The boom of the shotgun was shockingly loud in the confines of the tiny building, and he heard Carter gurgling.  He rushed forward in time to see Marcy Kunsberger clutch at her own chest and fall to the floor.  A gangly young man was running through the store towards her.

Adler took a step back away into the kitchen.  He plugged his earpiece back in and listened to the youngster talking on his phone to a dispatcher, over the increasingly weakened gurgles coming from Carter.  “Kunsberger's… looks like a heart attack...she’s shot a robber… I can’t rouse her.  I don’t think she’s breathing.”  Adler slipped his weapon into his jacket and slipped quietly back out the door, taking care to touch nothing.

\---

Officer John ‘Isaac’ Newton was bored.  He had been sat on the side of US93 carrying out routine traffic stops for nearly three hours.  It was part of a big safety drive.  And since one of his colleagues had netted the arrest of one of the FBI’s most wanted off of the back of it, his bosses had become utterly obsessed with the idea.  

But it was far from glamorous and in reality meant a tonne of paperwork, checking off the records of tourists heading through Nevada’s rough terrain.  It never ceased to amaze Isaac, just how many people thought it was a good idea to road trip down through Nevada.  Most incorporated the Canyon as part of the trip, so the 93 was the poor cousin to it’s more easterly sister routes.  But some people got caught up in the romance of taking the ‘Great Basin Highway’ only to find themselves utterly disillusioned with the reality of a 12-hour drive along miles and miles of asphalt bordered by red and white dust and the unexpected green of crop fields. The mountains around were spectacular in scale, but even they eventually became just more ‘scenery’.

It was hours of inactivity, interspersed with repetitive conversations with the bored, tired and crabby motorists, who just wanted to get there already.  In the last four weeks, he had made a grand total of three arrests, although in fairness he had written out numerous tickets, and advisories.  Perhaps he should try to remember that the primary purpose was to promote safety on the roads.

So, it was with a resigned and nonchalant attitude that Officer Newton raised his illuminated baton and signalled the approaching headlights to pull up.

 ---

“Shit.”

Cas stirred; the slight alarm in Dean’s voice disturbing his dozing.  He opened his eyes, and Dean dropped his hand onto his leg.  “Stay sleeping,” he murmured quietly.  “Keep your head down.”

“What is it?”  he whispered urgently.

“Hopefully just a routine traffic stop, but they sometimes get a bit sticky.”

“Sticky?  What the hell does that mean?”

But he felt the cool draft of fresh air as Dean wound down his window. “Good morning Officer.”

 ---

Newton raised his torch and scanned the interior of the car quickly.  Running through his usual commentary and questions.  He waited patiently while the young man in the car, braced his legs, lifting his hips from his seat to fish out his wallet.

He blinked in the brilliance of light, as Officer Newton flicked it over his face, comparing it to the image on the licence.  The passenger had not stirred, remaining curled up under a blanket, only a tuft of dark hair visible in the gloom of the early dawn light.

“Your friend OK?”  Newton asked, keeping his voice light.

“Hungover.”  The driver replied with a pleasant smile.  “We… er… we’re heading down to Vegas to see his brother.”  

“Have you been drinking?”

“No, sir.  Knew I’d got a long drive ahead of me.”

He didn’t smell of alcohol and there was no hint of intoxication in his manner.  Newton glanced again at the passenger.

“You… er… mind waking him up for me?”

“It won’t be pretty,”  the young man replied, but he gently shook a sprawled leg.  “Steve,  hey Steve… you alive there buddy.”  The passenger groaned and curled tighter into the blanket.

Newton’s radio gave a click and crackled a check in code.  “Wait here,”  he instructed the driver.  “I need to check in with dispatch,” and he turned towards his cruiser.

 ---

Dean worried at his lip.  Cas lifted his head cautiously and blinked at him from under the cover of the blanket.  “I dunno Cas,  he might not recognise you.  Jesus, we should have bleached your hair or something.”

“Blondes do have more fun,” Cas quipped, the tension making him a little hysterical.  

Dean spluttered a laugh and shook his head.  “You are amazing, Cas.”

“We could make a run for it,”  Cas suggested.  “You think you can outrun a cruiser?”

“In the dark down a straight length of highway?  Dude, we’re in Nevada, this road goes on in a straight line for miles.”

“Couldn’t we go off the highway?”

“In the dark? Baby’s a Chevy Impala, Cas, not a Humvee.  Even if she could cope with the terrain we’d probably end up driving into rock pile or over a canyon edge.”

“Like Thelma and Louise,”  trying for levity, anxiety making him flippant.

Dean gave him a stern look, “I’m not driving my Baby off a cliff.”  The corners of his mouth quirked, and he took Cas by the hand, giving it a little squeeze.  “Even for you.”

They both jumped slightly as the door of the cruiser slammed shut.  Cas swallowed nervously and sat upright in his seat.  Next to him he saw Dean consciously relax, slumping back into a nonchalant posture and he willed himself to do the same.

The torch flashed over them both again.  “Good morning, Officer,”  Cas said, concentrating on slurring his words.  He squinted against the brilliance of the light and kept his face tilted, hoping that the scruff of two days growth was different enough from the clean-cut publicity image that had been running on every news channel for the last two days.

“You feeling a little worse for wear son?”

“Hm.”

“OK.”  He handed Dean his licence.  “Have a safe journey.  I’d recommend the diner a couple of hours down the track.  Sukie makes the best steak and egg breakfast in the state and you can’t beat a 95 cent bottomless coffee cup for a hangover.”

“Thank you, Officer, you have a nice day.”  Dean wound up the window.  He pulled away carefully, easing Baby back onto the blacktop and watching the cruiser recede in his rearview mirror.  Cas let out a long slow breath.  

 ---

Behind them in his cruiser, Newton waited until the Impala was just out of sight, before turning the ignition and starting after them down the highway.  His radio crackling with messages flying back and forth as his colleagues set up the roadblock and began the process of clearing out any potential bystanders.  The Kansas plate he had called in as pulled the vehicle over had prompted a flurry of activity and his instructions had been clear.  He was not to attempt to apprehend the suspect, just keep track of the Impala until it hit the roadblock.

He wondered what hold Winchester had over his hostage.  He had clearly been frightened but there had been no obvious sign of a weapon trained on him, but maybe he was just so beaten down by this point… Newton had seen so many domestic situations, where the victim was violently protective of the abuser, nothing surprised him anymore.  He still bore the scar, where a young wife, eyes almost closed from the beating she had just taken, had stabbed him with a dinner fork, as he arrested her perpetrator husband.  After so many weeks maybe it was a Patty Hearst style thing…

\---

Uriel was sitting on his motel bed, listening to the crackle of radio messages being picked up by the radio scanner Carter had set up.  He glanced at the luminescent hands on the travel alarm he had set up on the small bedside table.  Another hour and he would have to get into the jeep he had bought second hand off a downtown car lot on his arrival yesterday and head into McCarran to pick up Adler.  He sighed and stretched his feet, toes cracking.  Suddenly he jumped alert.  

He grabbed a notepad and began scribbling down the details.  He allowed himself a small smug moment.  It was he who had suggested that Angel might try to reach the other brother and it was he who decided that The Grand Basin Highway would be the most likely route in to Vegas from Wyoming, and it was he who was sat in a motel room, 60 miles south of where they had been spotted, and more crucially 40 miles north of the rapidly deploying police roadblock.

They had been sighted, and his hunch had been right.  Raphael’s instructions were clear.   They were to get to Castiel before Henrikson at all costs.  If that meant one of them taking the fall, then so be it.  The reward would be handsome.

Carter’s fate had altered matters somewhat considerably.  Adler had carefully lain a trail of false evidence and then called in favours.  A trusted ‘associate’ was watching the investigation at the Kunsberger place.   Agent Lomax was on scene, liaising with Lusk PD,  and Adler needed to make sure he knew what the Agency knew, and what they planned next.  Uriel half hoped they didn’t have to kill Angel.  Or at least not right away.  He had proved to be a thorny little prick, and Uriel was enjoying thinking up numerous ways to make him suffer.    

Adler had been adamant that he should make no move without him, but this was urgent and Adler was still at 36,000 feet somewhere over the desert.  He considered his options.  He needed to think and act fast.


	8. Chapter 8

 

Cas woke, groggy and confused in his own bedroom: He tried to lift his hand to his face and on realising he couldn't, started carefully examining the restraints strapping him to the bed.  He tested the straps for slack, looked for weakness in the buckles, craning his neck, straining every muscle, including those in his eyes trying to work out how he was secured to his bed.   

He could not tell how long he spent struggling. The skin of his ankles and wrists itched under the padding of the psychiatric cuffs and his whole body prickled with a cool layer of sweat from the effort he had expended, pulling and twisting against them, when his complete powerlessness made him frantic.

He ignored the fact that his ass felt sore, not wanting to think what that might mean.  He also steadfastly avoided looking at the catheter bag attached to a stand by the side of the bed.  Only originally becoming aware of it as he twisted and the tube pulled tight, snatching at his groin with a twinge so painful he’d had to bite his lip.  He allowed his head to flop back, face burning with a mixture of humiliation, rage and frustration, hot tears prickling at his eyes.  

His head was pounding but he was surprised to find himself not only lucid but becoming more and more so.  He expected continued sedation.  He had looked at his own bare arms for signs of injection and found only one old and fading bruise.  He had however discovered a cannula taped to the back of his hand.  Easier he guessed than oral administration or repeatedly trying to find a vein. Perhaps they had misjudged the dose or wanted him to regain his senses. They certainly appeared to have learnt not to leave him unrestrained.

He was thirsty, his mouth dry, the taste of his own thick saliva unpleasant on his tongue.  Perhaps this was Raphael’s latest idea for revenge, to let him die of dehydration in his own bed.  He huffed the ridiculous notion aside.  Actually being as crazy as Raphael was trying to convince the world he was, now that would be epically self-destructive.  He snatched half-heartedly at the wrist cuffs and tried to think.

His last memories were garbled.  His last absolutely clear memory was of sitting in Baby, speeding down The Grand Basin Highway, the early dawn light brightening the vast expanse of sky.   _They had been talking about finding a motel somewhere short of Vegas, so Cas could hide, while Dean went to the casino to try and find Gabe.  He had been looking at his phone, when Dean suddenly swore, brilliant headlights were silhouetting his etched profile, face focussed, a terrific bang that shucked the whole vehicle sideways, and the world was a blur of movement and sound, screeching tires and crunching, scraping metal._

_Then everything was still; Dazed and in pain, the rattling of the door to his right pulling him back to the world, he opened his eyes.  The scar-faced man from his nightmares yanking open the car door.  He reached towards Dean still in the driver seat, blood on his inert face and then he was being hauled from the car, fighting and clawing at the man as he dragged him away.  He had seen Dean coming round, raising his head, the despair in his face, highlighted brilliant blue in the echo of distant flashing lights, as he tried to get out of the crumpled car.  Then the sharp stabbing punch in his neck and everything was swimming out of focus as he lost consciousness, the last thing he heard was the muted crescendo wail of far-off sirens, and Dean's voice calling his name. After that his memories garbled, snatches of conversation, so weird and disorientated he wasn't sure where memories ended and nightmares began. There was something else, something he didn't want to remember, sharp pinching hands, even sedated he was trying to fight his clothes being removed and...his own voice shouting for Dean... He felt sick. What had happened to Dean?  Was he alive?  Cas had to believe he was alive, he could not bear the alternative.  Sirens and lights.  Surely that meant policemen or agents?  Didn’t it? They would not have allowed Adler’s goons to hurt Dean surely?  He had to hope.  But if they had Dean, why had they not come here?  Dean would have told them, surely? Please, he would have told them about Raphael?  If Dean was alive, he wouldn’t just leave him here?  Oh, God.  He felt the despair clench his stomach and chill through his whole body.  He took a deep breath and tried to calm himself.  He had to find a way to get out of his fucking bedroom…_

There was a noise in the hallway outside.  The floorboard a few feet shy of his bedroom door, the one that had always let him know to flick off the flashlight and feign sleep as a kid, or hurriedly turn over and hide his porn as a teenager, creaked.

Cas closed his eyes, and let his breathing deepen.  The key scraped and, with a rasp, the latch pulled back.  He heard the gentle telltale scrape of a tray sliding onto a table, and the splosh of water circling into a vessel.

\---

Victor Henrikson did not like this at all.  His every instinct was still telling him that something about this case was off and now he had been reassigned.  

He stared at the now familiar papers in his hand.  He still found this intriguing.  Winchester had a record, a spate of juvenile misdemeanours and a few arrests for affray as an adult was hardly the file of a criminal mastermind.  But then there was this.  This one report.  He stroked his fingers over it. Half the copied pages scored with thick black marker.  A plea deal.  A redacted plea deal.  He re-read the charge sheet.  The only real serious set of offences Dean Winchester had ever been charged with. Such a huge step up from the five-fingered discounts and barroom brawls.  If he’d been convicted of even half of that little list, he’d have been spending the rest of his life wearing orange.  And quite possibly not a particularly long life at that, depending on which state had decided to prosecute.  So what was the plea deal and why was it redacted?  

Victor grimaced.  He reviewed what he knew so far, going back over it in his mind.

Winchester, manacled to the chair in the interview room, a line of steristrips closing an angry looking split over his eyebrow, had politely answered the detectives in Nevada.  He did not strike Henrikson as a liar, nor despite this one list of charges, as a kidnapper.  In fact, he was likeable, a little sassy under the polite veneer, maybe, cocky even, but likeable.  He had stuck to his story. Insisted that Castiel Angel was with him voluntarily, that he had picked him up hitching on the side of the highway and entered into a bargain to take his hitcher to Mexico on the promise of $5,000. This was the only point about which Henrikson didn’t believe him.  There was something more, something Dean Winchester did not want to say.  Not on tape anyway.  Those intelligent green eyes had slid away from the interviewing officer and fixed on the two-way glass, just for a moment.  Henrikson had just decided to engineer a little private tete a tete when the interview was interrupted, the state-appointed lawyer had arrived and, wham!  All discussion was closed down.

Victor, who had already read his report, had then sought out Officer Newton.  The report was full of official phraseology, dry and simple.  The Officer as per instruction had been trailing the Kansas plated Chevy Impala.  It had disappeared behind a large outcrop causing a rare deviation in the long straight strip of the highway.  As he cleared the outcrop he saw that the vehicle had been involved in an RTC approximately half a mile ahead.  

He deployed his lights and siren, and called it in, back-up coming quickly from the roadblock a few miles further south. First on the scene, he’d found Winchester, face battered and bloody, leaning over his unconscious captive.  No sign of the other driver.  

At this point, his back up had arrived and others made the arrest and began dealing with a passing motorist who had stopped on the shoulder a little way away.  

Victor handed over a small bag of doughnuts and a muddy looking coffee, by way of a bribe.  They discussed the contents of the report, and then Victor made his move. “You’ve seen it all before, Newton.  You’re an intelligent man, and a good cop,” he flattered softly.  “What’s your gut feeling?”

“Honestly?  You wanna know what I think?”  Newton’s eyes wrinkled as he smiled.  

“Yeah, humour me.”

“Winchester made no attempt to flee, he just knelt there.  Didn’t really resist arrest, that was just reluctance to leave Angel lying in the dirt.  He seemed genuinely worried about Angel,  wanted to make sure an officer stayed with him,” Newton told him.  “And something else. It struck me after when I was thinking about it. When I pulled them over.  Angel was scared.  Anxious.  I thought it was just, well, you know.  I’d be nervous, being kidnapped.  But afterwards, now… their body language, and the way Winchester was with him,  so gentle, cradling his head after that crash… I dunno, my ‘gut’ says it’s not so straightforward.”

Victor nodded.  “S’my impression, too.”  The Agent looked extremely thoughtful, biting the inside of his cheek.  There was something else he wanted to say.  Newton waited patiently.  “This case is … well, let’s just say it’s complex.  Have you shared your… reservations with anyone else.”

Newton smiled knowingly.  “Like you said.  I’ve seen it all before and to be honest, my gut is not something anyone else has ever been that interested in, but, in answer to the question you're not asking me...sure I can keep it under my hat, til you tell me different.”  He shook Henrikson’s hand as he left.

And then there had been the intervention of Dr Dick Roman, arriving at the hospital and taking over Castiel Angel’s care. Insistent that he was too traumatised to be interviewed. Not entirely unusual in a case like this, given that he had supposedly been showing signs of mental distress prior to disappearing.  Roman was so eminently respected that there was little point fighting it, but Henrikson was not convinced.  It was all falling too damned conveniently.  Dean Winchester was going to be staying in custody, the DA arguing that he posed a serious threat to Castiel Angel.  And all hope of talking to him or Angel was gone for the moment.

He had just been heading out to book himself into a hotel when the call had come through on his phone.  He was to return to the office, with Lusk PD requesting support they were short staffed.  It was total bull shit, of course, and Victor couldn’t prove it, but he was convinced Raphael Angel was behind the sudden shutdown.

So, here he was, back in his own office, packing up the files and whilst he might have orders from on high to drop it, that didn’t mean he had to like it.  He slotted the remaining statements into the file, but hesitated, gripping the slick manilla sheath in his hand over the archive box. When the agents opened the door to his office to collect it, he was sliding the lid onto the box with a scratching squeak as the cardboard edges rubbed against each other, but the manilla file with its all-important statements and evidence copies was nestled neatly in his desk drawer.  He might be off this case, but unlike his bosses, he had spoken to Lomax.  At length.  He knew that someone had been impersonating a cop.  Someone who had been asking some interesting questions about the occupants of a black Chevy Impala with Kansas plates a full 24 hours before his office had issued an APB for the same vehicle.  As his English grandmother was so fond of saying, there’s more than one way to skin a cat.

\---

Cas had no idea of the time, the day, how long it was since… since he had been taken again.  He continued to feign sleep, but in truth, his heart was pounding and he felt anything but calm. “It’s no good pretending, Clarence,” a soft female voice informed him, “I know damn well you are awake.”

“Meg?”  he managed to croak, eyes flying open.  She winked at him and pressed her fingers to his lips, as he stared at her wide-eyed and reeling.  She cupped her hand behind his neck and lifted his head.  “Nurse Masters,”  she informed him, indicating the neat tunic, emblazoned with her sister's jewel based logo, tapping her name badge.  “Luckily for you those fools your brothers hired don’t know the difference between a sedative and a vitamin shot.  We don’t have long, it’s taken me two weeks to earn enough trust to be allowed to administer your meds without supervision.  They won’t leave me alone with you for long.”

“Is Dean…?”

“He’s fine, Cas.  Absolutely fine.”

A tear rolled down Cas’ cheek.  A mixture of relief and fear causing a sudden surge of nausea.  “I’m gonna be sick,” he managed to say, as his stomach lurched and Meg turned his head swiftly shoving a cardboard container under him to catch the watery bile.  Her other delicate hand soft and comforting on the back of his neck.

She gave him another slurp of water and let him swill and spit, as his bright blue gaze flicked over her face, a mixture of gratitude and relief.  “How are you even here, Meg?”  His voice was little more than a whisper.

“We don’t have time for the whole story Cas.  There’s a lot happening.  We’re all working on it in different ways, but in short, Bal called me.  We were lucky they used Ruby’s agency to employ a couple of extra nursing staff.  If she ever finds out that the bout of stomach flu that hit nearly every goddamn member of her nursing team was down to a doped batch of cupcakes and not some freak occurrence she’ll disown me…  Either that or she’ll get me struck off.  I feel like a total shit, she was so glad that I would take a nursing job on my incredibly convenient holiday.  I am officially the best sister in the world.”

Cas chuckled in spite of himself.  She smoothed his hair away from his face, affectionately, as he lay back against the pillow. “I need to get out of here Meg.  Raph is after Michael, he’s trying to take over the firm. He arranged for Anna to be murdered, and I think maybe Luci was right and he did kill my mother.  He has certainly killed someone in the family.  I overheard those goons talking and…”

“Patience, Cas.  Raph has to think he’s getting away with it, we need him to relax so we can carry on getting the evidence together.”

“Bal is … how the hell does Bal know…”  

“Sam. He rang him as soon as the news of the arrest was out. They've found Gabe. Bal is in Vegas.  They were getting ready to stand bail for Dean but Valentine has been talking to the DA…there's some ”

“He’s been arrested?  You have to get me out of here.  I have to speak to the DA!” He snatched against the restraints and struggled to sit up.

“Of course he’s been arrested.  He’s been charged with kidnapping.  He’s not hurt, but they have him on remand in some goddamn hole.  Gabe has some hotshot lawyer surreptitiously backing up the state-appointed newbie.  Dean is maintaining the line that he picked you up as a hitchhiker and you were paying him to take you to Mexico.  There was an almighty scrap for jurisdiction, at the moment the US Marshalls are using the facilities in Nevada.”

“Mexico?  Why hasn’t he told them about Raph… he's innocent…”

“Cas, think, honey.” She stroked his arm soothingly.

He dropped his head back, understanding suddenly.  “If Raph thought he knew anything he might try to have him killed…and if he suddenly got a real good lawyer Raph would smell a rat… oh God. Are you sure he’s safe?”

“As safe as he can be. I’m sorry Cas, but you gotta be patient. Even if we weren’t playing a long game, I couldn’t get you out of here by myself.  At the moment the house is crawling with security. Adler is here nearly every day, and they are gatekeeping every visitor to the house.  Thankfully Michael is adamant that you stay here.”

“He believes me?”

“No, my little tree topper,”  she shook her head sadly, slipping back into using the nickname she had given him when he introduced himself in their first Psychology lecture together.  “But he is totally pissed with Raph.  He found out about Luci.  Sam says he told you.  I am so sorry, Cas. Michael is pretty heartbroken.  Raph tried to pretend that he didn’t tell either of you because he wanted to protect you both, what with your father dying so unexpectedly. He said he was trying to prevent Michael from feeling guilty when he was already under such emotional pressure.  There was an almighty argument.  I only caught about half of it. I’m just ‘staff’.  Practically invisible, which is perfect.”

She paused, as she helped him take another drink.  “It’s a good job Raph and Michael never bothered to visit me much at college, or they might have recognised you.”

She nodded. “As it is I’m having to avoid meeting Dr Dickbag, in case he has ever read any of my research papers.  The world of psychiatry is too small and too insular.  He has convinced Michael that you are best off sedated as you are so traumatised by what has happened. When you came round from your concussion screaming for Dean, and shouting about men with spider eyes in their cheeks, you pretty much confirmed it!  But with the whole Luci thing, Michael seems to have found either his backbone or his balls.  I’m not sure which, but either way, he won’t let them ship you off to any institution.  He wants you here.  Safe.”

Cas sighed.  “I’m still not safe.  Raph’s dangerous Meg, really, really fucking dangerous.  You need to be careful.  He still might get someone to harm Dean, he...he might hurt you.”

She tapped her name badge.  “Staff.  Remember, I am Nurse Invisible, and currently, luckily for your sorry ass, I’m in charge of your meds.  So drink up.  I need to remove this, sleepy little boys don’t drink out of glasses.”  She winked at him.  “If you’re a good boy and you remember to play sleepy, I’ll sneak you a sandwich later.  Just remember no matter what shit they try to pull, you are heavily sedated until I tell you otherwise.  I’ll stay with you as much as I can as protection, but I don’t wanna rouse suspicions.”

The floorboard creaked and Cas lay back quickly, closing his eyes and concentrating on relaxing.  

The door opened and Adler’s nasal voice chilled him.  “Ah, Nurse Masters?  I didn’t realise there was anyone in here.  I was… er… coming to check on the patient.  I thought I heard voices.  All good?”

“Yes, Mr Adler.  Sleeping peacefully.  I’m reading to him.  It’s very good for trauma patients even while sedated the auditory system and the brain…”

“I see.  So our young friend, can hear?”

“Enough to be soothed by the intent and inclination… current psych…”

Adler interrupted her suddenly.  “I don’t doubt your expertise Nurse Masters…very interesting I’m sure... Mr Angel, Michael, was looking for you. He was hoping you would join us all for dinner this evening.   We will meet in the dining room in half an hour.  Beautiful as you are, even in your uniform, might I suggest you change for dinner?”

Meg kept her voice light, as she responded, “Of course, how kind of him.”  

“Indeed,”  Adler sneered.  “Run along then, Nurse Masters.”

Cas heard the gentle swish of her uniform as she moved and the sound of the door closing.  His heart sank.  He could still smell that cloying aftershave.  Adler had not left the room.


	9. Chapter 9

Jess had wanted to stay.  Knew what seeing Dean, head bowed, bruised and battered in the courtroom had done to him.  The memories it was dragging back to the surface.  She held him while he cried himself to sleep.  Kissed him softly, and covered him with a blanket as he finally slept, emotionally exhausted.  In the early hours, he woke, thirsty.  He rolled over and stared at the empty sheet next to him, and padded on the balls of his feet through the hotel suite.  Jess was feeding JD, her blonde hair gleamed in the light from a side lamp.  He leant against the doorway, letting the aura of the moment wash over him, savouring it.  The scent of lilacs (he had to give Gabriel Angel his due, the detail he went to make his guests comfortable was amazing) mingled with the subtle smells of his infant son.  Baby powder and the warm milky smell of a tiny baby.  He knew the next time he smelt lilacs he would see this image, remember the overwhelming need to protect at all costs and in that moment he felt closer to his own father than he ever had in his entire life.

Jess raised her head and seeing him she smiled.  He crossed the space quickly and softly kissed his son’s downy head.

“Can I have one of those,” she murmured softly, “and then maybe a drink?”

“Hm.  Hot or cold?”

“The kiss or the drink?”

“Your kisses are always hot.”  He grinned.  “Sorry, that sounded so Dean.”  His easy smile faltered and the anxious look returned.  “Oh God, Jess, what are we going to do?  It’s all gonna come out. It’s all gonna get dragged up and I don’t see how it can stay secret this time.  I…I don’t...”

“It will be OK Sam.  He will be OK, so will you.  And when we get him home, I’ll hold your coat while you kick his ass into next week.”  

He gave a reluctant laugh and ran his huge hand through his hair.  “I think I’ll let you loose on him instead.”  

“You got through this once, you can do it again.”

“I feel like a frightened, lonely 14-year-old, all over again.”

Jess handed JD to him, and he dropped a muslin over his shoulder and rested the sleepy boy against him, rubbing his back.  

“But you’re not,”  she said softly, standing and slipping her slender arms around his waist.  “And we have a whole army ready to fight your corner.  To fight for all of us.”  She was right, of course. They were a motley crew but between them all… they made a powerful resource.  He sighed as she continued, “And tomorrow is going to be a long and painful day, I know, but I believe in you, Sam Winchester.  You just have to believe in yourself too.”

JD burped loudly and christened his father’s shoulder.

\---

Joe Lomax was a worried man.  He was running way off the page.  His career was his whole life.  He had always, as long as he could remember anyways, wanted to be a cop.  Initially it had been his ambition to be just an ordinary cop, but he had shone, first at school, then at college and his criminology professor had not only suggested that a career as a federal agent would be more appropriate, he had actively paved the way by using his connections to get him a fast-track interview.  In short, Lomax had everything he had ever wanted and more, and it had all fallen so neatly for him, that he could scarce believe his luck.  

When he had been partnered with Henrikson he had thanked his stars, the Gods, fate, whatever it was that had given him such a boon.  Henrikson was widely admired and respected, it couldn’t have been any better.

But now, he was worried.  Now, he had to make a choice.  Henrikson had confided in him.  They were working off the books.   He could do the expedient thing, or he could do the right thing.   He shrugged.  It wasn’t really a choice, was it.  It all boiled down to one thing and one thing only.  The reason he had wanted to be a cop in the first place.  His childish dream, to be one of the good guys who stopped the bad people, had evolved into his adult resolve, to use the law to protect and serve the not so bad people, by catching the slightly badder people.  So it wasn’t really a choice, and so Joe Lomax worried as he picked up the phone and dialled the Sioux Falls PD.  So he worried when he asked for the Sheriff, and so he worried some more when a pleasant sounding voice responded. “Sheriff Mills.”

\---

“Gordon Walker?  As in the Nighthunter?”  Kali’s face was a study of a shocked expression.  

Sam nodded.  He swallowed hard.  This was a subject he had hoped would stay buried, along with his parents and the other victims.

“Your brother was the Nighthunter’s accomplice?” Her cool professional demeanour had returned as smoothly as ever.  Her husband gave her an admiring glance.  Her intelligence,  intellect, and sheer damned strength of character were what made him love her so much.  She was, in short, fucking awesome.

Sam shook his head. “He was… his victim.”  He dropped his eyes, it still hurt.  Even after nearly a decade.  “He used me to make Dean go with him, he had no choice, we both knew he would kill the other if we didn’t do as we were told.  That’s why they gave us both immunity.”

“Jesus.  You!  What was your involvement?”

“I wasn’t there when he… during any of the killings, but he used us to cover his tracks…”  Sam’s eyes seemed huge as he lifted his head.  So much sorrow it seemed to leak out into the room and infect them all.  “He made us dig the graves…”

“Oh my God.”

“In the end, Dean managed to trap him.  He… “

“Your brother outsmarted the Nighthunter… the guy is renowned as a genius.”  It was the first time Gabe had spoken and his voice held a mixture of incredulity and respect.

Sam gave a little smile, a hint of pride sneaking into his voice.  “My brother is capable of so much more than anyone ever thinks he is.”

“I’m beginning to get that…but all this, all this trauma… it’s enough to break anyone.  They may well use this against him.  This never hit the press, how did it stay secret?”

“We got lucky, the arresting officer was a Sheriff… Jody Mills.  She made sure because I was a juvenile that my name was never released, and that meant not giving out Dean’s either.  By the time the Fed’s took over, she’d tracked down some of Dad’s friends, and got us a damned good legal team.  All the hearings were held _in camera._ To protect me initially, and then when they realised Dean was just another victim, the main charges were dropped within a   few weeks, the rest were cleared with a plea deal.  We were treated as witnesses from then on in.”

“If there’s the remotest chance that they can use this, they will.”

“He was just protecting me, you have to understand, he was always protecting me, right from the very beginning… Our father was a broken man,  a good, brave, loving man, broken by grief.  It’s taken me a long, long time to come to understand that.  I hated him for years, years wasted hating a man who was just trying to do his best.  Dean always tried to tell me, and I didn’t get it.  Couldn’t.  I blamed him.  It made me so angry.  And Dean just kept on looking out for me no matter what…”

“You don’t have to justify yourself, Sam,”  Kali smiled at him, encouragingly.  “No-one here is judging you… or your brother.  I just need to know everything.  Anything they might use.”

Sam held her eye this time and nodded.  He took a deep slow steadying breath.  “Ask away.”

She shook her head.  “Start at the beginning… I’ll not interrupt unless I need to.  Just give me the chronology, as you remember it.”

He shrugged.  “Ok, so right back in the beginning, some guy decides Dad has conned him, felt he’d been short-changed at the garage.  Some repair work, I don’t know the detail of it.  Dad’s having none of it, throws the guy out of his workshop and refuses to give him his money back.  So this guy, well he doesn’t take no for an answer.  Dean says he remembers Mom talking to this ‘friend’ of Dad’s, giving him coffee and offering him dinner until Dad comes home and then… well, Dean just remembers it all getting real loud and the man didn’t stay to dinner.”

“A few days later, someone broke into our house, set a fire.  The way Dad told it, Mom grabbed me and he grabbed Dean, only the fire had taken a real hold in my nursery… Mom managed to get me to Dad, and he shoved me into Dean’s arms and shouted at him to get me out of the house.  He tried to get back to Mom, but she was trapped, he couldn’t reach her.  The floor gave way and he ran out, barely made it himself.  Dad never got over it, he became convinced it was the man from the garage.  For years it was just us, dragged from pillar to post by his determination to find this guy.  A whole childhood focussed on one thing.  Revenge.  Dean bore the brunt of it.  Protected me.  Dad increasingly lost the plot, so Dean and I, we only really had each other, we became each other’s entirety.”

“Then Dad disappeared.  It was the day after Dean’s 15th birthday.   He left us breakfast, $157, and a message saying he’d be back in a week.  That was it. No goodbye.  He just vanished.  At the time we thought he would be back.  He’d been gone for a few days many times, a couple of times as long as a week so … well we waited...  Dean went out every day, looking, trying to find him.  The credit card maxed out paying for the motel room, after four weeks, and there was still no sign. In the end, we were there for months: Dean used a set of faked ID’s to make out he was my much older brother, got himself a job in a garage and enrolled me in school.  He’s always been great with anything mechanical… in another life he’d be an engineer, designing solutions to the unsolvable… but…he never stood a chance… not really.”  

The sigh was long and pained.  She waited patiently for him to continue.  

“So, Dad was missing. School broke for the Summer and we packed up a backpack each and left town.  We were beginning to get noticed.  Dad always taught us to avoid the attention of the ‘authorities’.  He was convinced they were ‘infiltrated’, typical paranoid bull shit. I think in reality, he sort of knew he was unravelled and they would take us away.  He loved us.  Truly loved us, but he was never gonna win any parenting awards.  He always told us that the authorities would separate us, and to be honest… we knew that credit card was a fake… they would have arrested Dean.  It just wasn’t an option.”

“Then, we got a phone call.  This guy.  Said he knew Dad from his army days.  He said Dad had written to him, asked him to check on us.  Dean was suspicious at first, but the man... he clearly knew Dad, told us stories about the good old days in the marines, so we agreed to meet him.  Dean got us bus tickets and we met him in a diner just near the bus station.  He had Dad’s journal, and a letter, to Dean and me, that he said Dad had sent to him.”  Sam cleared his throat.  “It was short, typical Dad, written on a piece of paper ripped from the journal, just telling us to be good, and he knew who had killed Mom and he was going to get him.  He would be back as soon as he’d ‘done what he needed to do’, but it was too dangerous to take us with him.  It had been postmarked from about a hundred miles south of where we last saw Dad.”

“So this old army friend, he offered us a place to stay until Dad came back, said we’d be safe with him and he wouldn’t feel right letting John’s sons fend for themselves.  We said we’d stay a week or two, but the months passed, he fed us, clothed us, enrolled me in school, and offered Dean a job.  Dean settled quicker than I did.  Having someone take over, he relaxed and life was good, I started doing really well at school, thinking about college.  Dean was making good money.”  Sam shook his head and smiled fondly.  “Dumb shit was saving it all, for me. My college fund.”

“But gradually I began to realise there was something… off.  I didn’t know what it was,but I knew Dean was hiding something. He changed.  Started getting snappy with me.  Sending me to our room straight after dinner to study.  He started running me to school, collecting me straight after.  He was working so hard, I just figured he was tired, but when I tried to talk to him, he shut me down. The only other time I ever saw him this way before was when Dad went through a spell of coming home really, really drunk.  Dean got so hard on me, rode my ass over chores, made me go to bed early every night… so that when Dad came home, I was out of the way, so that it was Dean who bore his frustration and not me… that’s when I figured it out.  He was protecting me from something again.”

“But for the life of me, I couldn’t figure out what.  Life was so good.  We had a home, structure.  Things were going great.  Then one night.  One night, I woke up.  Middle of the night.  I heard a scream.  A long drawn out scream.  Then nothing.  I figured it was some kind of bad dream.  But then when I woke up again, Dean wasn’t in his bed, and when I went downstairs, I found him scrubbing the kitchen floor.  He was crying… his face was bruised and …”  Sam swallowed hard, and ran his hands through his hair.  The memory of seeing his brother, his strong, ever snarky brother on his knees covered in bruises crying on the floor, as he scrubbed blood from the tiles, even as it soaked into his clothes and covered his skin...He jumped slightly as a hand gripped his shoulder, looking up in surprise to whisky coloured eyes full of compassion.

“Take your time, Sam.”  

He sighed and Gabe removed his hand and moved to the sideboard, the sound of clinking glasses and pouring fluids loud in the silence.   He took a swig of the amber fluid in the tumbler handed to him and winced as he sucked it through his teeth.

“That stuff is $400 bucks a bottle,”  Gabe muttered, “you could at least pretend I’m not tryna poison you.” Sam set the heavy tumbler down with a roll of his eyes and a spluttered laugh. Gabe grinned at him.  “That’s better kiddo.  It’s in the past, now finish telling Kali, so she can help you keep it there.”

\--- 

Raphael Angel stared at Adler.  He tapped his fingers impatiently on Winchester’s file on his desk.   Dean Winchester really should have been the gift that kept on giving, except...  Adler, who seemed to be fast proving to be a liability rather than an asset, had let his underling go off half-cocked and failed to take full advantage.

“So,”  he said slowly,  “My half-brother managed to get himself picked up by a serial killer’s apprentice… and yet you didn’t manage to take advantage of the situation.  You let them get taken… alive … both of them… by the police… and now… now my idiot brother is insistent on keeping Cas at home.”  

Adler swallowed.  “Roman is keeping him sedated, as soon as we can convince Michael to...”

“We?”  Raphael was all the more terrifying for just how quiet his voice was.  “WE?”

Adler loosened his tie and ran a nervous finger inside his shirt collar as if it were strangling him.  

“I wanted him dead, Adler.  He was travelling with a man, who was arrested as a juvenile for involvement in over 20 deaths and you managed to let him live… So now, I can’t have him dead. Everybody and his dog knows he is alive and safely ensconced in his childhood bedroom, and Michael has decided that because of what happened to Luci ( _your_ brilliant solution to his near escape from that mental institution, I might add, _yours_ )  that he will keep him here and hire staff to take care of him.   I don’t think another suicide is going to be the answer, do you?  Even Michael might find that just a little suspicious.  And how long do you think Michael is going to buy the need for sedation?  He barely trusts Roman as it is, because he was PiC at the asylum.  So Adler?  You tell me. Any great ideas floating around in that grey vacuum you call a brain?  Hm?  Well, Adler? ”

“We… erm… maybe an accident… if he were allowed up and about, got off his bed… fell down the stairs or… a reaction to the drugs?”

“Up and about… oh yes, brilliant Adler, we let him speak to Michael… that will work!  Not to mention the assorted medical staff.”  Raphael shook his head, simmering like an impending geyser.  “I am leaving on a business trip the week after next Adler.  You have 9 days to come up with a solution, and it had better be neat, and it had better be above suspicion.  Do you hear me?”

Adler shifted uncomfortably.  “There had to be another angle…”  he thought. Inspiration flooded his brain and adrenaline flooded his blood.   “Would it work?  Oh, my God, that was it.  So simple.  Would he have told him?  Surely that sort of thing doesn’t come up in casual conversation…”  

“What?”  His bosses harsh voice cut through his process, as he noticed the lift in Adler’s shoulders and the return of some of his self-assured snideness.

“The DA managed to convince the judge that Winchester was returning to the old MO.  That’s why they remanded him in custody.”  Adler said very slowly, still letting his thoughts run.

Raphael’s voice was dripping impatience, but he nodded.  “She convinced him it was a natural progression for Winchester to continue to use Walker’s methods, but with the intention to maybe make the kill himself…or use Cas in some way.”

Adler’s grin was nasty.  “So…”

Raphael stared at him, waiting for the punchline, “So?”

“We let your brother find out. We have him isolated here.  The nurse… she says he can hear… take in what’s being said… If we get Roman to adjust the dose, just enough to let him surface a bit, we can…”

Raphael nodded with sudden understanding.  “We can convince him that he was every bit as vulnerable as we said he was, and lead him to believe he was being groomed...  Adler,”  his voice held a modicum of respect for the first time in many, many weeks, “You are despicable.”


	10. Chapter 10

“Paperwork.”  She heard her boss mutter under his breath.  “I hate paperwork.  Why is there always so much bloody paperwork?”

She smiled to herself, and carefully set the tea tray down on his antique desk.  He glanced up at her, and catching her smile he returned it.  “One minute to go,” she nodded at the egg timer, “and it will be perfectly brewed.”  She looked meaningfully at the clock, as he raised his eyebrows in question.  “11 am, English Breakfast, two scoops, boiling water, to the bottom of the spout, 6 minutes to steep.”

“Missy,”  he sighed, “What would I do without you?”

“Mr Crowley,”  she grinned.  “You would find yourself another minion to brainwash into the art of making perfect tea.”

“Never,”  he said, archly. “No-one… I repeat… no-one could ever replace you.”

They laughed at each other, and she seized the pile of papers from his desk.  “Drink your tea,” she admonished him.  “I’ll prioritise these and fill them out for you to sign.  This,” she held up a single sheet for him, “is the movements for this month.  This you need to read.”

She withdrew and he poured a little milk into the bone china cup, watching thoughtfully as the remaining grains sank through the narrow neck of the hourglass.  He lazily perused the list.  Parole hearings, release orders, intake.  All neatly listed, dated, and next to each entry, Missy’s neat hand had ascribed notes.  The likelihood of success for parole, those already successful with dates of release, and the status of each new arrival.

He scanned it.  Some names familiar, some not.  Amongst the parole hearings, scheduled for the end of the month, was Benny Lafitte.  He sighed.  He would miss the cajun bear, but there was little doubt his parole would go through.  He was a calming influence, thoughtful, intelligent and ultimately a peacemaker.  Strange to think he had ever been riled enough to kill but kill he had, pleading guilty to manslaughter, in Crowley’s homeland he would probably never have been jailed.  But here, where things were tougher, and the wrong background, meant tougher sentencing, he had not stood a chance.  Stoic and solid, he had taken his punishment.  Missy’s little tick, to indicate success was not even accompanied by her reasoning.  It was not needed.  He had a wife to return to, the letters on his file, included his old boss’s job offer, his former naval commander’s glowing personal reference, even the victim’s family were behind his release.  His behaviour since the day he had arrived had been exemplary.  He should have been moved onto another wing, but he was so well liked and respected, amongst prisoners and guards alike, it was hard to imagine anyone who would leave a bigger hole in the community and he was a natural at defusing tensions. So he had stayed in A wing, maximum security, trusted to run the library cart and go between the cells in a way that no-one else could.

He placed the strainer over his cup and poured the fresh smelling brew through it.  Raising the pot nimbly to allow the air to reach the flow.  He set it down and rocked back into his chair, cup held in one hand and report in the other.

He took a sip and sighed.  Then, he frowned.  Under intake.  What the hell...  

“Missy!”  He allowed his chair to fall forward, again.  “Missy?  What the hell does this mean?”

She opened the door and peered around it, her neatly coiffed head of dyed blonde curls bobbing with the movement of her head.  “What does what mean?”  she asked softly.

“Why does one of my new inmates have four exclamation marks and a small love heart next to his name?”

She laughed at him.  “That’s my new shorthand for drop dead gorgeous.”

Crowley sighed.  “And I need to know this because…”

“You need to know this, boss, because he’s going into A-wing.  And you may like to think about the effect of a young man with male model looks going in with that particular group.  Especially as you are about to lose your main ally and balm for keeping the likes of your namesake under control.”

He looked at the list of charges.  He had no choice, the lad had to go into high security.  “Bollocks,”  he said softly.  “I’d better go and assess the situation myself.”

“Drink your tea first,” she said, flatly. “He’s still in processing and it only makes you grumpy if you miss your 11 o’clock ‘cuppa’,” her gentle mockery of his British slang made with perfect intonation.

\---

The officers in processing were always a little wary when taking in a high-security prisoner.  No matter how quietly they came, no matter how polite or calm they seemed, they were high security for a reason.

They treated him carefully, but there was no roughness or cruelty in their demeanour, so Dean found himself relaxing a little.  So far he had been treated well at every stage.  The only time he had been manhandled was when he struggled to stay with Cas.  He felt the pain of leaving him lying in the dirt afresh every time he thought of it.  There was no doubt in his mind that ‘the passing motorist’ who had started to drag Cas from the car was the horror from his nightmares, the scars on his cheeks, the way Cas had fought him.  He had given up dragging Cas towards the jeep, when it became clear that the police were too close.  He dropped him to the ground, with no pretence of care, and Dean had dropped to his knees cradling Cas in his lap, talking to him quietly, hoping he could hear his mumbled reassurances.

Everything since then was a blur of holding cells and uniforms and transport vehicles.  The constant sounds of metal on metal.  Either the rasp as the shackles closed, the clinking of the links as he moved, the scrape of a key as they were unlocked, the clunk of a cell door closing, even the echoes in places like this rang metallic and harsh.  

He thought back to the court hearing.  The pain on Sam’s face as he watched the proceedings.  His only visitor up to that point had been the rather strange young lawyer, Harry Spengler.  At first, he had thought he was just some state-appointed newbie, but once they were alone, and under the protection of attorney-client privilege the young man had dropped all pretence and Dean found out the nature and extent of the plan that was falling rapidly into place, and his role in it.

His utterly frustrating, impotent role.  For Cas’ sake, he had to stick to his story.  It wasn’t too hard, with the exception of the fictitious five grand trip to Mexico, it was factually correct.  He slammed his fist into the table when he heard about Marcy, and the officer stationed outside the tiny interview room had peered through the reinforced safeguarding glass with a look of alarm, until Spengler raised his arm in supplication.

“Is she gonna be OK?”

“I don’t know,” Harry replied honestly.  “She’s in intensive care.  The kid who found her,” he looked at his notes.  “A Garth Fitzgerald, he rang it in as a heart attack, but it was the recoil on the shotgun knocked her off her feet and she bashed her head on the floor as she fell.  They are keeping her in a drug controlled coma while the swelling goes down.  She may not remember anything when she comes round… so don’t rely on her backing…”

“I don’t care about that,”  Dean snapped.  “She’s … she doesn’t deserve this…  I just wanna know she’s gonna be OK.”  At least Garth had been with her, if she was aware at all.

The young man’s face softened and he smiled.  “I’m sorry.  I’m so used to dealing with… well… it’s rare you know.  I’m used to self-interested pricks.”  He shrugged apologetically.  “I’ll keep tabs on her and let you know her progress.  OK?”

Dean nodded.  “Will she face any charges?”

“Unlikely.  Self-defence.  The guy tried to overpower her.  Looks like he was posing as a police officer to try and track you and Mr Angel.”

“Call him Cas, Harry.  There’s far too many Mr Angel’s in this mess to stand on formality.  So you think this Powers guy was on our trail.  He working for Raphael?”

“We think so.  There’s a Fed on the case.  Lomax. And this is where it gets interesting, his boss, Henrikson was pulled from the kidnap investigation, but this Agent Lomax was asking Mr Fitzgerald a lot of questions about the weeks you spent there.  Henrikson was in Vegas when you were being interviewed, before they pulled him off the case.”

Dean thought back.  “Tall black guy?”

Harry shrugged, “Dunno.  But well, we think, and we can’t be sure, but we think maybe he has an inkling that this case isn’t so straightforward.  We think he was pulled from the case, because he was getting close to something.  So he may be an ally, using the Lusk stuff as a back door to keep tabs.”

Dean shook his head, this case was one long convoluted game of chess, with too many damned players.  He had heard enough speculation for now.  His head was spinning as it was.  He pressed his fingertips to his temples and circled them slowly, appraising Spengler, in his sharp new suit and cheap shirt.  “You keep saying ‘we’. Harry, who is we?  How long exactly have you been a lawyer?”

“Oh around four weeks, three days, and…”  he made a show of checking his watch, “Six hours.  But don’t worry.  We have back up.  Kali Amma is,”  his voice cracked slightly, “well, she’s amazing.  Her reputation and she’s pulling together a team of… the opportunity to work with these people, at this stage in my career, well it’s…”  he stopped talking as he noticed the look on Dean’s face.  “Sorry.  It’s… just…”

Dean sighed.  “No, it’s me that should be sorry.  I feel… well… I feel so damned useless, stuck in here.”  He grinned at Spengler.  “It must be kinda cool for you, and honestly… I don’t mind you enjoying it, just don’t lose focus OK.  Cas and I are in a fuck of a lot of danger.  This is a big boys playground.”

Spengler swallowed, he looked so damned young. “You can rely on me.  I promise.”

Dean huffed a little.  He didn’t like relying on other people, that was the problem,  he didn’t like it one little bit.  Relaxing his guard and relying on other people had only ever got him into worse trouble.

So now here he was, playing his role, in the processing pen of a high-security facility in the middle of the Nevada desert.  He clasped his hands in front of him, waiting patiently for the officers to ‘process’ his incarceration.  Technically, he was ‘innocent until proven guilty’ but in reality, the fact that he had been remanded, the list of charges and the fact that he had priors would make these men think he was ten shades of guilty and all kinds of dangerous.

He kept his stance relaxed, his voice calm and his manners polite.  Biting back his natural inclination to cover his own anxiety with a snarky attitude.  

The guards were stiffening, their body language changing.  He looked about him warily.  A small bearded man, neat and very well dressed had entered the far end of the block.  Dean watched, keeping his head lowered, as if he were not.  The guards were deferential, almost submissive towards the man as he strolled, light on his feet and apparently unconcerned, towards him.  

“Mr Winchester.”  The accent was British.  Dean raised his head, and met a pair of shrewd brown eyes, appraising him with a swift glance up and down.  “You aren’t going to give us any trouble now are you?”

“No sir,”  Dean said swiftly.  

“Glad to hear it. My name is Crowley.”  The smile seemed quite genuine, if a little forced.  “I am the Governor of this pleasant little holiday park.  And so long as you remember to be a good little inmate, you and I will probably not see each other again, until you leave for good.”  Dean held his gaze, his face passive.

The Governor was walking away, when he paused and turned.  His tongue poking at his cheek, he stared at Dean, deep in thought.  He nodded to himself and walked away, barely acknowledging the nods of his staff as he walked past them and out of the block.  

“Put him in with Lafitte,”  he said to the supervisor of the high-security staff.  “And for Christ’s sake keep your eye on Alastair.  He will be all over that sweet piece of arse if you give him even half an opportunity.”

\---

Sam was getting exhausted.  He wanted more than anything for this to be over.  To have Dean, safe and solid in his home and to never let him out of his sight again.  When this was all over, they were going to talk, and this stupid obsession with keeping his distance was going to end once and for all.  

It was reaching the most difficult part of his story.  The thing, that up until now, only six people in the whole world as far as he knew for definite were aware of this horror.  Jody Mills, Bobby Singer, the Winchester brothers themselves, his own wife and Gordon Walker.  The most painful part.  The part that had ripped their world apart completely.  Before they got lucky.  Before the met Jody Mills. Before they had found their way back to Uncle Bobby and his unreserved, unwavering, uncompromising determination and love.

He focused intently on the desk in front of him, the room receding into the background as the memories came back.

 ---

Dean’s job for Walker, involved him working long hours in the yard, breaking the cars that the team brought in for parts, and sending them out to auction or to fulfil the order book.  He quite enjoyed it, Sam could tell.  He had always been at his happiest tinkering around with old cars.  It was one of the few things John ever praised him for.  Sam would sit inside the Impala playing with his toys, while Dean and John were fixing her up, tuning the engine, or working on some part or other, keeping her in tip-top condition.  Gradually, Dean got a reputation amongst the crews at the yard, they got him fixing their cars, their family’s cars, and in his spare time, he was working on an old Mustang that had been brought in.  

And that had been where the trouble began.  This was what Dean had finally confessed to Sam on that fateful morning, sat on the tiled kitchen floor, covered in blood.

Dean had been scouting for parts for the Mustang.  He had found a locked shed, right out the back of the property.  None of his keys worked the padlock, but it was old and fairly rusted, so Dean just figured it was one Gordon never bothered with.  He found a loose panel at the side of the building, behind the hulk of three old wrecks and squeezed his way inside.  Light streamed in through gaps in the slats, and rather than being the dusty long-neglected space that Dean had expected, the inside was actually pretty clean.  A large square trapdoor in the middle of the floor had a much newer padlock, and out of curiosity more than anything he tried every key.  None worked.  Shrugging and deciding he would ask Gordy later, he turned his attention back to his hunt for parts.  The shed was pretty big, more of a barn really.  A series of large cupboards all locked against one wall where the roof sloped up to full height.  A few piled tires, debris and a vehicle covered with a tarp on the other side, where the roof sloped down to waist height.  

The tarp and the tires unlike the rest of the space were dusty and cobwebbed.  Dean had lifted the tarp, exposing the dirty paintwork of a sleek black door.  His heart began beating a little faster, he pushed the heavy tarp back further and stared through the side window into a very familiar interior.  Excited, at his find, and thinking he would ask Gordy if he could replace the Mustang with a new project, he yanked the tarpaulin and flicked it back exposing the hood of a Chevy Impala.  He gave a low whistle and stepped back to appreciate it’s beautiful shape, and it was only then, that he realised.  His whole world collapsing, along with his legs.  

Adrenalin surged through his veins as the enormity of what he had found struck home.  Never, when he talked about their father getting in touch had Gordy mentioned the Impala, and yet here was Dean, on his hands and knees in a locked shed, heaving his guts into the dirt floor, his nose three feet away from a Kansas plate that read KAZ 2Y5.

His father’s pride and joy was parked, hidden away in this locked shed, and she had been here a long, long time.  There was no hiding the fact that he had uncovered her.  Still stunned, Dean grabbed a metal bar from amidst the pile of tires and debris under the eaves and used it to jemmy the lock on the trapdoor.  

“It was Gordon’s holding pen, and own personal torture chamber,”  Sam said softly.  “There was no-one in there, but there was equipment down there.  And Dean found his notes.  His sick, sick notes.  He was snatching people off the highways and bringing them back to the yard.  Experimenting on them.  He had some twisted idea that his sister was a vampire… that…”

“It’s OK, Sam,”  Kali said softly.  “You don’t have to go through that stuff, unless you need to for your own sake.  I’ve read the files, I know the kind of thing that Walker did… his experiments with blood, and his disposal of his victims.  But let me be clear, are you saying that he killed your father?”

Sam sighed and nodded.  “It wasn’t just Dad.”  The tears began to fall silently down his cheeks, and it was Gabe who groped around for and found a box of tissues, thrusting them in front of Sam, and dropping a comforting hand onto his arm.  He and his wife stared at each other.  None of this was in the files.  

“It was Gordon Walker, that set fire to the house.  He had this statuette amongst his ‘souvenirs’.  It was an angel.  A china angel, that Mum bought when she was pregnant with Dean.  She used to tell him it would watch over him when she put him to bed at night.  Well, when I was born, he put it in my nursery, and told Mum it would watch over me when he couldn’t.”  Sam gave a rueful little smile.  “Looking out for me, right from the very beginning.”  The smile dropped and he shuddered involuntarily.  The years had made this no easier.  “That bastard killed our mother and then when our father tracked him down, he killed him, too. Dean had to carry that secret around on his own for nearly a year, because Gordon caught him down in that cellar with the angel in his hands and he told him if he ever told anyone, or tried to get away that he would kill me too.”

He blew his nose, noisily and closed his eyes, waiting while his tears fell.  They all waited in silence.  Gabe softly squeezing his arm, and Kali watching them both, her own eyes moist, as Sam slowly steeled himself to carry on.

He swallowed hard and wiped his face again, before continuing, voice a little broken, but determined.  “He started using Dean as bait.  Driving out with him in the truck and using him to draw in punters.  The way Gordon’s mind worked, if they were willing to take advantage of a kid of Dean’s age, they deserved what was coming to them.  So he drove him out to bars and got him to offer himself for money.  And then when the mark followed him outside Gordy took them. He made sure a few of them got to use him first. Just to make sure that Dean's DNA was on the corpse." Sam shook his head. "That’s why Dean had to have a plea deal.  Technically, even though he was under duress, he was still complicit in those deaths and there was evidence aplenty of it on some of the fresher corpses.  And that’s the guilt he carries around with him, that he lured those men to their deaths.  He blames himself for trusting Walker, and for putting me in harm’s way.”

“And he thinks that the only way he can be sure he never puts me in danger again is by travelling around and staying away.  He doesn’t think he deserves to be happy and have a life.  And God, I’ve tried to get him to open up and talk about it.  It was me that told Jody and Uncle Bobby.  And we’ve all tried to get him to understand, but he’s stubborn, you know.  And he wouldn’t listen to any of us.  Just kept it locked down inside.  I was lucky I guess, being so much younger, I got my grades. Applied and got into pre-law at Stanford, helped it has to be said, by the glowing references from some of our lawyers. I met Jess my first week and she is my rock.  She knows all this.  I told her not long after we first met, and she has helped me to live with it.  She gets Dean, really gets him, and he likes her, a lot.”

Kali nodded.  “ Why were the murders of your parents not used for Dean's defence? Walker was never even charged with them. There's nothing in the evidence files even.”

“Dean refused to co-operate until we all promised to keep it a secret. There was no real proof anyway.  It’s all circumstantial evidence.  We don’t know where Dad’s body is.  Gordon never revealed it, even to Dean. So we kept the secret, between us all.  Gordon was going down anyway, for the other murders.”

"You said Dean trapped Gordy, but he was arrested as part of a routine surveillance operation..."

Sam shook his head. “It was Dean. That's just the cover story. You see while Dean could keep me safe, one step removed, he tried to work out a way to get me out from the yard.  But Gordy was so clever.  I was his leverage and he wasn’t going to let me go anywhere. He made sure Dean had no chance to get me away. Then one night, one of the men escaped from the shed. He made it as far as the house, looking for a phone, and Gordy chased after him. He caught up with him in the kitchen and they fought. The poor guy was weak and disorientated from the drugs, and Gordy overpowered him and slit his throat.  That was what Dean was cleaning up.  There was no way to hide that I knew something bad had happened.  The kitchen was a bloodbath.  Dean was covered in it.  So Gordon grabbed me.  Dean tried to stop him and he beat him down, left him unconscious on the floor and he dragged me out back. He pulled a gun on me and he made me dig a hole in the ground, and he told me flat.  I said anything to anyone, gave him away, didn’t do exactly as I was told, he would make me dig another one, and it would be Dean that he put in it, and then me.  No-one would ever find us, and no-one was coming for us.  We were orphans.  It was as near as he ever got to admitting to me that he killed Dad.”

“He locked Dean in a pair of handcuffs and pushed him into the corner, while I got down on my hands and knees and carried on scrubbing the floor.  Told me I tried to release him and he’d kill us that day.  So I cleaned the floor.  He came back in the evening.  Took the cuffs off Dean and we sat down to dinner as if nothing had happened.  And that was just the beginning of the real nightmare.  He didn't need to pretend anymore. He played power games with us.  If either of us got even slightly out of line, he took the other and locked him in the cellar.  We did as we were told.  But in private, Dean was working on a plan.  He kept promising me, he would get me out, but I told him I wouldn’t go without him.  It was both of us or neither.  So he made me promise that when it was time.  I would do as I was told and I wouldn’t question, and then he promised it was both of us or neither.  And that was it.  We bided our time.  We did as we were told, and we just bided our time.”

Gabe refreshed the scotch in their glasses, and this time they all drank.  Sam settled into telling his story again, his voice steadying.  “Gordon worked outwards in a circle from the yard, and I think he was worried that someone would spot a pattern, so he decided to go further afield.  So he announces one morning over breakfast that we are going on a little road trip.  Dean was terrified, I could tell,  I think he thought this was it, that he was gonna kill us, but that wasn’t it.  Gordon was just making sure his trail for the next ‘take’ was further out.”

“And that was where Gordy fell down really.  He picked an area just South of Sioux Falls.  And we had the nearest thing to family that we had just North of there.  An old friend of Dad’s ran a salvage firm. It was only half a chance, but we had to take it.  We all slept in the truck, he cuffed me to the steering wheel, while he took Dean out to reconnoitre the local bars.  Dean got talking to one of the local girls, who worked the bars.  She told him about the cops in the area, and that was when Dean got his idea.  He asked her to point them out to him.  She did one better she had a ‘friend’ who worked as a civilian admin, who had warned her about some operation that was running in one of the local bars.  So Dean tells Gordy, that is where all the ‘action’ is.  He told me what he was going to do, he spent an hour teaching me how to pick the lock on the handcuffs, gave me money for the bus, and told me to get myself to Sioux Falls and find Uncle Bobby.  Then when Gordy sent him into the bar he deliberately targeted a man he thought was one of the cops.”

“Gordy was impatient to get back, didn't wait for the guy to use Dean, just tried to snatch the guy right off. The place was under surveillance and next minute they were surrounded and the cops arrested them both. I made it into Sioux Falls, got picked up by the local law pretty much as soon as I stepped off the bus. I think a 'concerned' passenger had probably rung me in as a runaway. Not that it matters.  At the station, the Sheriff started questioning me.  I mentioned Bobby and that was it. She called him, he came straight in and I started to tell him everything.  Jody made a few calls, I don’t know how she did it, pulled some stunt with documents that made Bobby our guardian and got Dean transferred into her jurisdiction.  After that, she was calling all the shots for a while, till the feds took over the case.  As soon as the majority of the charges were dropped and they were sure that Dean was gonna get a plea deal, the lawyers let him tell the Agents where to look and what they were looking for.  The rest I think you know.  The Nightwalker was in custody and the official line was that it was a lucky break following a routine operation, and the cops at the bar got the credit, but really it was all Dean.”  

“We stayed with Bobby, under his guardianship.  He got a call to collect our stuff, once the Feds were done tagging everything into evidence, and came back with Dad’s journal, and the Impala.  Dean spent the whole Summer fixing her up.  He didn’t talk to anyone besides me or Bobby, and even then he wouldn’t talk about Dad or Mom or anything that had happened.  At the end of the Summer he drove me to Stanford, and as soon as he got back he told Bobby he was leaving, and then he set off in the car, never staying anywhere for more than a week or two.”

Sam stopped.  He needed them to know, needed them to understand. “That’s why Cas is so special.  He broke through it, Gabe.”  He blew his nose a final time and squared his shoulders, the echoes of a frightened lonely teenager dropping away.  “Despite all this shit,  I never heard my brother so happy and so relaxed as he was with Cas these past few weeks.  Not since before all this happened.  We have to get them back together.  Cas is Dean’s Jess, whether he’s admitted to himself or not yet;  He needs him.”


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the delay, the next four chapters should come in fairly quick succession...

Dean crossed off another day on his wall calendar.  10 days now.  The cell door was locked, and he could hear the cart moving steadily along the walkway outside, Tuesday was a library day and Benny was in charge as ever, moving between the cells exchanging books.  Dean picked up his own current book, but his eyes were not focussed on the black on white of the printed words… instead, his mind was preoccupied with memories.

 ---

There was no way to stride confidently in shackles, but Dean squared his shoulders as they approached the door of the maximum security wing for the first time.  The dark haired, dark eyed guard, who barely looked old enough to be drinking let alone a guard in maximum security had fixed the metal cuffs with surprising softness, checking them for pinch points.  The guard walking to his right, hard-faced, and the much older of the two, had given him no such quarter and seemed to take great delight in bumping Dean off balance as they walked through the facilities.  Finally, after shuffle walking for what seemed an age, they drew to a halt.  And while they paused outside the door waiting for the clunk as the electronic deadbolts unlocked, the bastard muttered softly under his breath.  “Catwalk time, sweetcheeks, and then you get to meet your new husband.”

Dean turned his gaze away, but the younger officer glanced at him, briefly making eye contact.  Dean’s eyes widened slightly, was that a hint of reassurance in the thin smile.  The young man broke the contact and adjusted his carrying belt, as the buzzer sounded and the door opened.  The laminated sign read simply Block A, High Security.  Code Blue area.  Only Authorised Personnel and Escorted Prisoners.  It shut behind them with a heavy dull clang, and Dean stood in the reception to his new lodgings, taking in the guard sat behind the big high desk, idly watching a number of screens.

A low-level klaxon had been sounding, and even from his position at the door, Dean could make out the various orange suited individuals on the screens, reluctantly picking themselves up from their positions in circulation and grudgingly heading into their cells.  “Way to make a guy popular,”  Dean thought to himself.

They all waited in silence until the officer behind the desk gave them the nod, and then as the klaxon silenced he was escorted through the final door.

For the most part, his fellow inmates seemed to be just curious.  One or two whistled at him, but he kept his head straight, knowing that their first impression needed to see no sign of fear or anxiety.  He was constantly aware of the watching eyes of the guard to his right.  

He turned quietly into the open cell and waited patiently while the shackles were removed.  He rubbed at his wrists, and the young guard flicked his eyes down with concern.  “Sorry,”  Dean had muttered.  “S’OK.  Just feels good to get ‘em off is all.”

The older guard rolled his eyes, muttering something about ‘being soft’.  Dean had not been sure who he aimed it at.  Didn’t care to be fair.  He did not like this pinch-faced man, with his strange drawling speech, and snide remarks.

He stared at the empty double bunk, the nasty nasal voice breaking through his thoughts.  “Your cellmate is on work duties.  But don’t worry sweetcheeks, he’ll be back for the honeymoon soon enough.  You just sit yourself down at the back there.  While you still can.”

The lower bunk had personal notes and pictures pinned to the walls.  A prominently placed muscle calendar and a few articles clipped from the papers.  From his position sitting at the back of the cell, Dean couldn’t see the top bunk, which he assumed would be his.  The older guard had obviously noticed his eye line and gave a low whistle. As his colleague walked out of the cell, he leant forward and whispered,  “The boys sure are gonna have some fun taking turns on you.”

He walked out and in the privacy of the dark back of the cell, Dean allowed himself to flinch slightly as the door shut with a final clang. He ignored the catcalls from the other cells.  Sitting quietly to take stock.  He resisted the urge to get up and move around.  He had no intention of potentially antagonising his new cellmate, and he had no way of knowing what the guy considered personal or precious.   

Just out of his eye line he could see the guards stood on the opposing walkway.  The wing had cells only down one side.  The ground level was several feet below, with the arbitrary metal netting to prevent anyone leaping over the rail to the floor below.  A steel walkway ran around the walls of the building.  The guard stations were opposite the cells, presumably for ease, so that the guards could watch all the cells at once.

Behind them was a white wall, high windows, some 14 feet above the gangway, allowed long oblongs of light to cast across the grey concrete of the floor, and glinted on the metal of the top rail where it had been smoothed by the passing of many hands over the years.  He looked up and instantly thought of Cas, as his eye took in the brilliant cerulean blue of the Nevada sky.  

He swallowed and stared at his hands in his own lap.  He could do this. He could.  All he had to do was keep his head down and let the plan unfold.  He shoved his panic at relying on others deep down, and let himself breathe.  He had survived 19 months of cruel manipulation at the hands of Walker.  He had survived 9 weeks in custody as a mere teenager.  He could do this.  He could do this for Cas.  It had to be no walk in the park for Cas either, trapped in the Angel mansion.  He was every bit as much a prisoner as Dean according to Spengler, and quite probably in more danger.  Although Spengler had reassured him that his friend Bal had managed to get someone into the house to keep an eye on him.  But still, Cas would be having nightmares, and feeling vulnerable...he realised he was clenching his fists and his jaw, frustration rising, so he pushed that thought down deep too.  Worrying about Cas was not gonna help him.  The 24 hours in Vegas, before he had been formally questioned when they had refused to answer him about Cas, when, he hadn’t been sure what had happened to him or that he was safe, or well…he had felt sick with it... “Stop it,”  he told himself.  “This ain’t helping.”

He was drawn out of his thoughts, by the clang of the door.  The man in front of him, dressed in the same orange clothes as he wore himself, was huge.  Broad, and bearded, silhouetted against the light, his shadow seemed to fill the tiny cell.  He stepped forward and the dim light from the dirty ceiling fitting struck his features.  A pair of intelligent blue, green eyes flicked over Dean appraisingly.  His lips pursed, “Tres jolie.  Aren’t you just every bit as much of a pretty boy as they told me you were?”

Dean felt his stomach clench in a knot of fear until the bear’s face split into a warm smile.  In his hands, he was holding a pile of sheets and blankets.  “Fresh laundry.  Can’t say it smells good, but it’s clean.  Name’s Benny.  Let’s get your bunk stripped, and pull all of Ralf’s shit off the walls.  Unless you want the top bunk?”

Aware that Dean was staring at him, he stopped speaking.  “I don’t bite, Cher.  Alastair brought you in, did he?  That bastard been winding you up, brother?”

Shaking himself Dean nodded, stood and finally finding his voice he held out his hand.  “Dean,”  he stated simply.

Benny merely nodded back.  “I know.  Dean Winchester, they told me.” He let his voice soften.  “Don’t worry.  You’ll get used to it,” he said. “Alastair Crowley is an asshole.  Most of the guards, don’t like him either.  But steer clear of him, don’t show any reaction and he’ll get bored of it soon enough.”

“Crowley?  Like the Governor?”

“He’s no relation.  You don’t need to worry on that score.  That’s why everyone calls him Alastair, just so we know who we’re talking about.  Even his name badge says, Officer Alastair. I think the Governor did it just to irritate him. Alastair hates it. That’s why he don’t wear the badge if he thinks he can get away with it.”  

Dean chuckled.  “You been here a long time, Benny?”

Benny sighed.  “Well now, here’s your first lesson in A Wing etiquette. You and me, well, I’m your cellmate and you can ask me anything you like.  I got nothing to hide, but out there.  You don’t ask anyone their business.  OK?”

Dean nodded, biting his lip.

“If a man wants to tell you his story, that’s different, there’s plenty you’ll wish would shut up on the score.  And to be honest.  We all know each others’ backstories, but most of these men are in high security for very good reasons.  So you don’t ask.  Comme il faut.”  He smirked at Dean’s incomprehension.  “That’s just how it is.  But in answer to your question, I’ve been here 14 years, 11 months and 27 days and I’m up for parole at the end of the month. And you’ve been remanded til your next appearance.  Scheduled for six weeks, right?  So you and me, we’re in a race to see who gets out first.”

“How do you know I’m gonna get out of here, I might...”

For the first time, Benny stopped moving, and turned his full gaze on the younger man, his voice held a hint of pity.  “Ah, Cher.  An innocent man in here is a lot rarer than some would have you believe, but like I said, we all know each others’ backstories. That’s why we don’t _need_ to ask.”

\---

The routine of prison life was simple.  Boredom was the biggest factor.  As a remand prisoner, Dean had no work duties to fall back on, and following Benny’s advice, he tried to keep his head down and avoid the politics and dramas of the populace.  He was fairly certain that Benny was protecting him, or that at least being Benny’s cellmate gave him protection.  The big Cajun had some sort of special status, he seemed to be respected by guards and inmates alike.  And he was a peacemaker.  No-one messed with him and having watched him quietly and softly defuse fights and altercations before they started, Dean was beginning to understand why he was so respected.

The food was nothing special, but not too awful either.  Three square meals a day.  Two daily outdoor exercise sessions.  The Governor, apparently, firmly believed that the fresh air of dust bowl Nevada was good for them.  There was the option to play basketball, but Dean preferred to use the equipment provided to do a sort of circuit training, enjoying the stretch in his muscles.  Cards, board games or more reading in the evening, broken only by the shower roster, and the occasional (privilege earned) access to watch carefully selected TV.  

Alastair continued to needle at Dean, and he had a little set of cronies amongst the prisoners.  A group Benny warned him were predatory, all killers, nearly all sex offenders, Dean had managed to avoid them, for the most part.  The main danger points in his day were the evening shower and the period in the morning when nearly everyone else was on work duties. Dean preferred to stay in his cell, reading his way through the prison library or going over the letters he had received from Sammy until he memorised them.  He also struck up a slightly awkward friendship with the young guard, a rookie called Aaron Bass, talking easily about books, and recommending titles to each other.

Thus within his first week, Dean Winchester had settled into the quiet, unassuming role of inoffensive model prisoner, who would trouble no-one, guard or inmate. 

He dropped his head back onto his pillow and slipped his earplugs in. It would be lights out in a little over an hour, and he may as well get a head start on his night’s sleep.  Benny had given him the earplugs on that first night.  “This is a small place to be full of thirty-two men, all of whom have urges, and some of ‘em ain’t so quiet.  If that’s your bag, you listen in, by all means, but I prefer my sleep, so don’t jerk the bunk around too much if you decide to join in.”  He felt himself blushing and the big cajun bear winked at him and laughed, until he relaxed and joined in, good-naturedly accepting his teasing.

He stretched himself into a comfortable position and closed his eyes. Perks of Benny as a cellmate, he didn’t even need to stay awake to swap his library books.  The only downside, there was no Vonnegut in the prison library, and his own copy was still tucked deep in the inside pocket of Cas’ backpack.

He closed his eyes, and within moments had drifted to sleep.

\---

After that first evening, Meg was expected to join the Angel brothers for the evening meal every night.  She had not wanted to leave Cas with Adler, that first evening.  It was bad enough when he was sedated, but lying there pretending to be unconscious, knowing this man had abducted him, and was prepared to kill him if instructed, would be terrifying him.  She had intended to eat quickly, and get back to him as fast as she could without arousing suspicion, but the meal had extended to five courses.

Her relief when Adler joined them in time for the second course was immense.  Still, every evening, as she refastened the restraints, around her friend's wrists and ankles she felt a little sick.  The sooner this was over, and he was free from this place the better.  

She dressed quickly.  The black silk pantsuit she had chosen for tonight, borrowed from Ruby, was a little long in the leg, but paired with heels it worked well and emphasized her colouring.  She had begun taking a little extra care with her appearance thinking that maybe by dressing to impress she could work on Michael.  Even opting for a deeper shade of lipstick, a red the colour of cherry juice. In fact, in other circumstances spending so much time with Michael Angel would have been a pleasant experience.  He was charming, and not in the reptilian style of his older brother.  She found herself liking him. He seemed genuinely interested in her life, and she felt a little guilty that she could not tell him the truth, opting for lying by omission, rather than out and out fabrication.  It was clear, too, that his concern for Cas was real.

She pulled a brush through her thick black hair, and with a quick check in the mirror, she carefully replaced all her ‘spy’ measures, to ensure that she could spot any presence in her room while she was dining.  She put nothing past Adler.  Not that there was anything for him to find, her only link to her ‘real’ existence was the encrypted mobile, and that would take more than a few hours to crack into.

She entered the dining room and with some trepidation, she realised Adler was nowhere in sight and the table was set only for three.  She responded politely to the brothers but made no attempt to stimulate the conversation.  The array of cutlery suggested they were here for the long haul, at least five or six courses, and she had begun to strategise ways to excuse herself early.  Her preoccupation had been noted, of course.

“You seem distracted, Nurse Masters,” Raphael Angel remarked, as the really rather excellent butternut squash and pepper soup was cleared away.

She forced her face into a smile.  “Just concerned to get back to my patient. I really don’t like leaving him unattended for too long, whilst he’s so heavily sedated.”

“You really need not worry, my dear,”  he said, and her flesh crawled. “Mr Adler has volunteered to stay with Castiel this evening so you can relax and enjoy your meal.”  

Michael was watching her intently.  She couldn’t quite make out his expression in her peripheral vision, but his eyes were focussed solely on her.  She was not entirely sure what was happening, but she felt deeply uncomfortable.  Something about the brothers’ behaviour was not quite right.  

Raphael continued quietly, “Michael is quite keen to reduce the levels of sedation, are you not, brother? Do you have an opinion, Nurse Masters? Perhaps, a discussion with Dr Roman is required?  I don’t believe you have been introduced to him yet.”  

She bought herself time to compose an answer, by taking a sip of wine. The very last thing she needed to do was meet Dr Dick.  “I think that a carefully monitored reduction in the levels is appropriate at this stage. Patients need time to process trauma, and complete sedation does not give the patient the awareness to so do.  I can begin to reduce the dosage as early as tomorrow.  The responsibility for medication has been signed over to me, as a senior nurse practitioner, I can adjust the prescription, unless you would, understandably, prefer to check with your physician.”

“Entirely unnecessary, Nurse Masters.  Your qualifications and expertise are beyond doubt.”  He dabbed at the corners of his mouth with his napkin before placing it on the table.  Even this apparently innocuous activity seemed somehow creepy.  She shifted in her seat. Perhaps mistaking her gesture for discomfort at being questioned at the dinner table, he added softly.  “Forgive me, I’m forgetting my manners.  Michael has already scalded me tonight for being thoughtless.  He invites you to join us so you can feel properly welcome, a part of the household, and here I am dominating the conversation with ‘shop’ talk, and making you feel as though you have to justify your capabilities.”  

The apology did not feel at all sincere. She sensed Michael stiffen and felt her own indignation rising on his behalf.  Raphael continued smoothly, “If you’ll excuse me, I think I will set your mind at rest by checking on Castiel myself.  I will report back on the care Mr Adler is taking of him.  Please, enjoy your fish course.  The chef’s Shrimp Verde is quite simply exquisite.”

\--- 

Dean woke, expecting to see the sky through the high windows drifting into daylight, but it was still dark.  Only the low-level lighting of the guards' station and the faintest hint of moonlight broke the gloom.  One of the earplugs had slipped loose and he could feel it, as a small bump pressing into his neck, he retrieved it, pulled the other out and tucked them into the edge of his pillow slip wondering what had disturbed his sleep.  He listened with a twitch of his lips to Benny’s gentle snoring above him, and rolled onto his side in his bunk, glancing at the shadows of his own little gallery.  Nothing there but his calendar and a couple of pin-ups.  It was his safety blind.  He had no wish to advertise Sammy or anyone he cared about here, but to have nothing would stand out as secretive.  He stared unseeing at the calendar.  He was due a visit with Spengler in two days.  He would find out where they were at.  Not knowing was brutal.  Sam could not really update him in his letters, in case they were being read.  He thought his mail was reaching him uncensored and unopened, but they all knew it wasn’t worth the risk.  Raphael was so far-reaching, it was difficult to know just how widely his influence stretched. Maybe they would have to work out a code.  Amounts of milk for levels of progress on the case. We’ve switched to organic nappies for Cas is out of scrubs...

It was then that he heard the noise.  The subtle sound of someone moving softly along the landing outside the cells.  He shifted onto his back, and lay still, straining to hear further sounds.  Alarmed he realised he could hear a cell door quietly opening.  The locks were operated electronically from the guard station and the buzz as they activated would have shattered the fragile silence of the wing.  If a cell door was opening, it had been left unlocked at least since Benny re-entered their cell shortly before lights out after he had finished his library run.  He heard something else, now.  Something soft and quiet, that sounded suspiciously like a whimper.  There were only two cells to the right of this one, and he was fairly certain that was the direction of the noise, although with echoing acoustics of the wing, it was a little hard to tell.  

He thought about lifting himself from his bunk but was aware that the guards might see him.  The guards...  Carefully he lifted his head and strained to see.  There was no dark figure standing on the landing opposite.  There were usually at least two officers on duty, even at the dead of night.  He sat up carefully, sliding to the end of his bunk as quietly as he could, opening his viewpoint wider.  A movement on the floor caught his eye.  To his right, the shadow just outside his cell was extending, making steady progress across the walkway.  He froze, realising he was even holding his breath.  Whoever was casting that shadow was creeping steadily closer to his cell. 


	12. Art by Peanutbutterthenjelly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is the gorgeous artwork created by @Peanutbutterthenjelly
> 
> She's really captured what was in my head when I was writing the story... so please make sure you visit her on tumblr and tell her how wonderful it is. :-)

[](http://imgur.com/9jKP5IO)

[](http://imgur.com/dPqYPos)


	13. Chapter 13

“She’s awake.”

Despite the pleasant tone of the voice breaking into his sleep, he tried to shrug the hand off his shoulder. His dream was a pleasant one and he did not want to return to the awareness of plastic chairs, the odour of burnt coffee and a room full of uniforms and paperwork.

“Agent Lomax,”  the voice was insistent, as the hand shook him more firmly.  “Joe!”

He lifted his head from his folded arms, unaware that his cheek carried the impression of his suit buttons, dark brown eyes bleary with sleep and cropped black hair pressed into an awkward shape on one side..  

“She’s awake.  The doctor says she's fit for interview, and I thought…”

Joe Lomax shook himself and blinked the blur of sleep from his eyes a couple more times.  A chipped white ceramic mug emblazoned with a badge logo hit the table in front of him, and some of the sludgy brown fluid that passed for coffee in Lusk sloshed into a dark pebble on the formica in front of him.  “Thanks,”  he muttered, sitting up and stretching his aching muscles.

\---

The first time Adler had come to Cas’ room and sent Meg to dinner with the Angel brothers it had been clear to Cas that he was moving around with the easy familiarity of someone who had been in here often.  He had not stayed long, not really done much, but it had been enough.  The sheer terror of it had fuelled incredible nightmares, that night.  So much so that Cas begged Meg to sedate him, overnight.

She had not liked it, even when he told her simply, “You know it makes sense Meg,  we got lucky last night, that I didn’t wake the whole household screaming.  You have to put me under, or I’m gonna give us away.”  

Cas had seen the stubborn set of her jaw easing, and reluctantly she had sighed and nodded her agreement.  “OK, Clarence you win, but I’m only giving you a sleeping-draught, nothing more.  We can’t mess around with these drugs Cas and I don’t like leaving you vulnerable when you’re alone in your room. We’re not in college anymore, so I can’t curl up next to you like I used to. If your brothers find out I’m not actually a nurse, they might jump to the wrong conclusions about how I make my money.  Besides, Dean might not be as understanding as Bal. ”

She had laughed at him as he spluttered, “Meg!” all the while feeling the blush rising through his cheeks.

“It appears, I am to join your brothers and Adler for dinner every evening from now on.  The food nearly makes up for the company I guess… Michael and I had quite a chat.  He wants me to take full responsibility for you and I’ve managed to convince the whole heavenly hoard that you don’t need to be restrained during the day, as you are sedated anyway.”

“Well, what are you waiting for… get ‘em off me!”

“Shhh,  you want the whole house to hear?  I’ll have to put them back on when I go to dinner.  Don’t pout at me, you know I’m immune to puppy dog Cas.  Raphael got Dr Dick to insist you can only be unfettered when your ‘accomplished nurse’ is present.  Was he born a sarcastic jerk?  Every time he mentions my qualifications I can hear the air quotes.  Does it run in your family?”

Cas had rolled his eyes at her, but she simply carried on.  “Dr Dick is ‘concerned’... Christ, they’re contagious… that you might endanger yourself if the sedation wears off.  You know, cos you’re likely to stagger about confused but still able to get through a locked door and fall in the fountain or something.”  

Cas began rubbing his wrists as soon as she had released his arms, while Meg moved on to his ankles.  “I gave Michael a couple of reference articles about muscle wastage after dinner, so he’s given me the go-ahead to set up an ‘exercise programme’ for my unconscious patient. I’ve created a comprehensive fake physiotherapy regime, and we’ll lock the door, obviously, for the privacy of my patient, should give us enough cover for your clumsy ass bumping about.”  She winked.  “Careful now, you’ve barely moved for nearly two weeks, your muscles are gonna be weak.”

Cas made a dismissive noise, but the shock had been clear on his face as he tried to stand upright for the first time and his legs wouldn’t behave themselves.  Meg smiling at him reassuringly had slipped her shoulders under his arm.  He had he leant heavily against her as she supported him into his battered old reading chair.   She tried not to laugh as he tugged the waistband of his patient scrubs open and stared at the catheter tube.  “When did you…”

“Relax, Clarence,  I closed my eyes.”

“Very funny.”  He had gingerly removed the tape fastening the now fake catheter to his thigh and with a deeply satisfied sigh, kicked the hated trolley holding the bag away from him.

“If that goes over, I’m not cleaning up the mess it will make,”  she’d informed him solemnly.

Scowling half-heartedly, he’d let his head drop back against the chair. “If we could get our hands on Anna’s research file…instead of having to redo her whole investigation… I wouldn’t have to kick it over.  I could be out of here!”

“I know Clarence, but patience is a virtue.”

The look he had shot her held more vitriol than virtue and she could not help but laugh at it, relieved to see some of the real Cas shining through.

His face changed, “You would have liked Anna, Meg, she… she was pretty amazing.”

“What can I say, you collect amazing women.  If you were straight you’d have a pretty awesome harem.”

He gave her a watery-eyed grin.

And so as the week had passed, they relaxed into a routine, the amount of time they were left alone increased each day, to the point that Meg spent every day in his room, arriving with ‘her’ breakfast every morning, and staying until just before 7 when she left him to go to dinner, returning afterwards to settle him and give him the sleeping pills, never leaving until he was peacefully unconscious.  No-one seemed to find it strange that Meg was prepared to work a 14 hour day, or at least no-one commented, and the subject of a day off was never raised.  Some of the conversation was a little strained, and Meg was careful to offer little information, other than polite responses and generic chit-chat.

If the chef Raphael had hired while he was catering for guests had noticed that Meg had an apparently incredibly healthy appetite he made no comment.  So Cas was able to eat solid food, the discrete (if somewhat embarrassing for Cas) business with, using and then smuggling the contents of, a bedpan away meant that no-one realised that the feeding tube clipped to his nose was just a prop and went no further than a half an inch into his nostril.

Cas got used to the couple of hours each night he lay in the dark, strapped to his bed.  He found himself zoning out, going over the latest information Meg had gleaned from her daily contact with Bal.  Tonight, shortly after Meg had once again reluctantly re-fastened the cuffs and left, he was thinking, correlating what Anna had told him with what the others had managed to discover so far. He heard the floorboard outside creak and realised the door to his room was opening.  He wasn’t sure, but it seemed too soon for it to be Meg. As his nose filled with the familiar sickening aftershave, he fought to keep his breathing even, his body flushed cold as he heard the soft rasping click that indicated that Adler had locked them in.  The self-control it took not to open his eyes as Adler moved closer was incredible, and in spite of himself, he flinched slightly as long fingers twined into his hair, tugging his head sideways.  Adler gave a little purr of pleasure at the muted reaction.  

“Your pert little ‘nurse’ told me you can feel just enough to recognise pain, hear just enough to sense inclination, looks like she is right, hm?”

The fingers tightened still further, tugging harder to see if he could provoke another reaction.  “You may not be properly awake, you little shit.  Certainly not awake enough to elbow me in the nose, or knock me to the floor, but you _can_ hear me. And after our conference call today it seems, even Roman agrees with her.  He says; even though your drug-addled little brain can’t process the words properly, you can still feel the intention, that I can drive your emotional state, fill your head with images, make you afraid... So hear this you little fucker.  Starting tomorrow we’re going to re-program you.  Tell you all about your precious Dean, and his twisted little games, make you understand why he was even interested in boring, nerdy, sorry little coward Castiel.  And then gradually, slowly we’re going to let you come to… in time for the next court hearing.  By the time you are sitting in that witness box, you will be so thoroughly convinced that he hurt you that you will say anything to get him locked away.”

The grip in his hair loosened, but the weight on the bed next to his pillow did not lift.  Playing dead was difficult enough normally, but fear and adrenalin were pushing his heart to race, and his breathing shortened in spite of his best efforts.  Thankfully it seemed that Adler just took this as proof he was getting through to Cas’ subconscious. “Those pretty blue eyes will fill with tears as you tell everyone how he beat you and raped you and told you he was going to make you do unspeakable things… I bet you look so cute when you cry…  don’t you Castiel?  Of course, I might get to see that for myself, we’ll need some physical evidence of all those bruises and the injuries.  Can’t convince a judge that we failed to collect the photographic and physical evidence now, can we?  You have no idea how much I’m going to enjoy making those marks.”

Cas felt his own cheek tic away from the back of fingers that stroked his skin, snagging on the stubble of his chin as they slid towards his mouth, pulling at his lip.  Adler stroked his thumb back along the line of his cheekbone.  His breath was hot on Cas neck as he whispered harshly into his ear.  “They do terrible things to men like Dean in prison, Castiel.  Maybe they’ll even have to put him in solitary, to protect him.  Imagine that, locked away on your own for 24 hours a day, wondering why the pathetic little worm you thought you had under your control has turned on you.  At least that’s how they will read it when they investigate the death.  He seems like such a sensitive soul.  I would think that all that time alone will drive him crazy, wondering why you abandoned him.  Crazy enough to cut it short himself.  And whoops… it’s so easy for these prisoners to get their hands on strips of cloth, they even use their own clothes I’m told…or sharpen their cutlery.  Those prison guards… poor fellows… so distracted by trying to make ends meet, that they forget to check on the inmates as regularly as they should, and what with the terribly low levels of pay...supporting their families can be so… difficult...so grateful for _charitable_ donations...”

On and on the nasal voice droned, and all Cas could do was lie there as his fear grew.  It didn’t matter that he knew he would never turn on Dean.  They could still get to him and Adler was spelling out exactly how.  Even in jail, especially in jail, Dean wasn’t safe.  He wanted to scream at Adler, punch him and hit him until he couldn’t speak, instead he had to lie still and pretend he was barely conscious.  The door handle rattled, and Cas felt the weight beside him lift as Adler stood and turned back to unlock it.

\--- 

“I’m serious Benny.  I heard a cell door open.  I heard someone whimpering and I couldn’t see the guards at their station. Someone stood on that landing just outside these cells.”

“It can do funny things to your mind being in here.”  Benny said softly, as he pulled his pillow from its case, but his face suggested he was taking Dean seriously.  “Imagining things in the middle of the night is common enough.  Hell, Scitz swears blind he gets visited by angels.  And no Boy, you do not wanna ask him to tell you that story.”

“First rule of A wing?”  Dean smirked.  “You’re not in the Navy anymore, Benny.”

“Don’t ask, don’t tell officially ended in September 2011, smart ass.  But I think in his case, the first rule would serve you doubly well unless you wanna be bored to death over breakfast.”

“Seriously though, Benny.  I didn’t imagine it.”  Dean yanked at his sheets and tried not to look at the state of the mattress underneath.

“Maybe not, but let’s keep it between you and me, OK kiddo?  And you think you hear any more nocturnal ramblings, rule 3 no longer applies.”

Dean pursed his lips, trying to figure out how not disturbing your cellmate with excessive ‘self relief’, could possibly apply.  “Rule 3?”

“Yeah, next time, brother,  remember if it’s in the cause of self-protection, I won’t mind if you wake me up by shaking the bunk.”

“Oh.  Gotcha.” Dean sniggered as he continued stripping his bed, turning his back and shoving the scrunched polycotton into his laundry sack, so that he missed the thoughtful, concerned look on Benny’s face and the way he stared across the wing towards the guard station as if scanning it for someone.

\--- 

Lomax waited patiently in the airport pick-up.  He saw Henrikson’s familiar figure appear tugging a small overnight bag, and he honked the horn just once.  He popped the trunk and waited patiently while Henrikson removed his jacket and dropped into the passenger seat.

“Good flight?”

“Not bad.”

“Coffee and lunch?  While I fill you in?  Hospital visiting starts at 2 pm.  I’ve booked you into the same motel as me, and then tomorrow we’re driving down to meet Sheriff Mills at a small town half-way between here and Sioux Falls.  She’s bringing copies of her files, and some other info about the Winchesters.”

Henrikson picked up the hesitation in his colleague's voice. “Having second thoughts, Lomax?”

Joe Lomax hesitated, marshalling his thoughts before he answered.  He was, of course, having second, third, fourth, ‘pick your multiple’ thoughts, but none of those thoughts brought up a different answer and every new thing he learnt seemed to confirm his course of action was right.  Henrikson cut in with a long drawn out sigh before he could corral his unruly thoughts into a coherent answer.  “I’ll understand if you need to back off, Joe.”

“Hell, no,”  Lomax said, vehemently, drawing a genuine smile from Henrikson.  “My four-year-old self would never forgive me if the first time I got to face off with a real bad guy and I was on the wrong side…”

Henrikson chuckled.  “You make me feel so jaded sometimes.”

“Can I ask you something?”

Henrikson made a gesture with his hands that indicated Lomax had the floor.

“Why now?  Why this case?”

“Because, Lomax, in that interview, at his house, Raphael Angel got right on my fucking nerves.”

“It’s as simple as that?”

“It’s as simple as that.”


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ok. So we're entering the endgame now. I'm sorry for the delays between chapters. A hefty dose or writer's block and the irritating intervention of the real world were to blame. I hope it was worth the wait. A lot of action in this chapter, setting us up for the final few chapters and the resolution.
> 
> Any typos, errors or inconsistencies, please point them out. I am never offended by any or all critiques. It makes for a better experience all round. Peace out bitches. x :-)

Marcy Kunsberger looked tiny and vulnerable as the capable looking nurse tucked the blue waffled blanket firmly under the edge of the mattress.  Bess was waiting patiently in a visitor’s chair in the corridor.  The bag she clutched between her fingers, held some of Marcy’s personal items from her room.  Comforts from home, her soft old hairbrush and the picture from the kitchen wall.  Garth was running the gas station, and the young couple had taken it in turns to visit every single day since Garth had followed the ambulance to the hospital.

Yesterday she had finally surfaced from the coma to a round of tests and assessments.  Bess had listened with anxiety at first, gradually lifting to amusement, as the exchanges between Marcy and her doctors revealed that she was barely dented.

_“For heaven’s sake stop your fussing.  Is all this prodding and poking really necessary?”_

_“I’m afraid so, ma’am.”_

_“Well fine.  Will you for goodness sake stop calling me Ma’am.”_

_“Yes, ma’am.”_

Bess stared at the bag, she held in her lap, her fingers twined in the plastic.  Comforts from home.  The nurse opened the door, holding it open as she left.  With a nod and a little smile, Bess slipped into the room.  “Good afternoon, Mrs Kunsberger.”

Marcy sighed.  “For goodness sake, child.  How many times… I’m not your fourth-grade teacher, call me Marcy.”

“I brought you some things from home.”  Marcy nodded, her old face twisted into something approaching a smile.  She gave a little cough and winced, rubbing the bruise on her chest.  Her wrinkled skin had a distinctly greenish hue where it met the delicate lace of her nightgown.  No patient scrubs for Marcy Kunsberger.  Garth had blushed himself purple as Bess dragged him through the department store picking up ‘ladies necessaries’.  The thought of going through the old ladies drawers in either sense of the word, just far too horrific for his sensibilities; they had brought new rather than trying to find what was needed in Marcy’s living quarters, it seeming too much like an invasion.

But it had been different after she was awake and could give her permission, so Bess opened the bag and withdrew Marcy’s things from it, setting them out on the bedside cabinet.  Her elegant comb and the long-handled silver hairbrush.  An ancient worn old alarm clock, and finally the picture.  Bess placed it on the little table, angling it carefully so that Marcy could see it from the bed.

A dark man in neat white scrubs, carrying a clipboard came into the room, a stethoscope swung around his neck. He paused briefly when he saw Bess, a quick barely noticeable check in his stride before he continued his approach to the foot of the bed.  

“Everyone has been asking after you,”  Bess said.  “A trucker called in yesterday, and he was so shocked when he saw Garth.”  She leant forward conspiratorially, “I thought he was gonna cry.  We told him, you were in the hospital but that you would be back soon, and he says, ‘you tell her I’ll be back through in four weeks and I expect to see her back, nagging me into taking some fruit juice and home-made pie.”

“What was his rig like? Sounds a bit like Carl…nice boy, runs the coast to coast around four time a year...”  

Bess smiled, the ‘boy’ had been at least 50, either that or he’d had a really hard life.  With a clatter, the medic hung his clipboard over the foot of the bed.  Bess glanced at him, her sweet little face pinching a little as she pondered what was strange about him.  All the other doctors and nurses carried palmtops with scanners, not clipboards, and he wore shiny shoes, pointed businessman shoes with that funny punched pattern across the toes, not the sneakers or vans, that seemed to be obligatory amongst the rest of the hospital staff.  For all her apparent sweetness and innocence, Bess was no fool.

“Yes… he said you’d know him straight away…”  she carried on a stream of meaningless chatter, whilst gently gripping and squeezing Marcy’s hand.  

The medic cleared his throat.  “I’m sorry to interrupt your visit, but just need a few moments alone with Mrs Kunsberger, young lady.  Can I ask you step outside for a few seconds.”  He reached up and casually twisted the blinds on the first corridor window closed.

Shrewd brown eyes flicked across Bess’ face as she squeezed the hand in hers a little tighter, digging a neat line of nails into the side of the crisp old palm.  Marcy showed no reaction as Bess, keeping her face carefully hidden by her long blonde hair, widened her own eyes and flicked them in the direction of the alarm button.  

“Young man, unless you plan on stripping me, there’s nothing my granddaughter can’t see.”

The medic nodded, his scarred cheeks plumping as he grinned.  He flicked the second set of blinds opaque. “Of course, some family members prefer to step outside while we carry out… procedures, but I only need to adjust your drip.”  He reached casually into his pocket and pulled out a vial.

“You know… erm… Grandma… maybe I might go grab a coffee.  Would you like one?”  Bess jumped up, caught her foot and slipped on the bag she had discarded at her feet, grabbing the medic’s arm for support, knocking the case and vial from his hand.  “Oh my… I’m so sorry… I’m…”

“Not to worry,” he said calmly, though his eyes screamed something else.  Especially when a blushing Bess froze, eyes wide, at the crunching sound under her tiny foot.  He bent and scooped up the case, shoving it deep in his pocket.  “I’ll just go sign off the ‘loss’,”  he muttered.  “Fetch another batch from the drugs cupboard.  Perhaps you would come with me… I’ll need you to sign off the paperwork.”  He gripped her arm, the pretence at calm beginning to slip.  

The bedside call buzzer was not excessively loud, but its steady pulse was nonetheless startling.  The man in scrubs relinquished his grip on Bess’ arm and she pulled away from him, stepping protectively between him and Marcy.  He glared at her and despite the surge of adrenaline she straightened her back and stared him down.  Footsteps were approaching in the corridor, and the nurse entering the room gasped loudly as she was forced to stagger backwards by the man leaving the room.  He disappeared down the corridor.

Bess stood for a moment, rubbing her arm, a set of finger-shaped striped red blotches appearing on her pale slender arm in the soft flesh just above her elbow.  Then her chin began to crinkle, and she gave a little sob, as the shock hit her.

When they arrived mere minutes later, Henrikson and Lomax found the whole ward in uproar.

\--- 

Adler was on a plane, yet again.  It was a shame that he was constantly travelling under pseudonyms, by the time this was over he would have enough frequent flyer miles to take himself to Australia and back.  He sighed as the seat-belt signs flashed on and the plane began its descent into Chadron.  

It was a relief actually to be away from the Angel Mansion.  His boss was pretty incandescent.  And although it meant that it would be Dick Roman, called to the Mansion solely for that purpose, who would have the pleasure of unravelling the little prick’s brain, at least Zachariah would be out from under the capricious threat of Raphael’s temper.  His instructions were clear.  It was Defcon 1.  All threats and loose ends to be terminated, effective immediate.  By now, the Kunsberger woman should be dead.  Once Uriel collected him from the airport, they had a slightly more tricky assignment.  It needed to look like a random carjacking gone wrong.

Raphael had been cagey about what was happening with Winchester. Cagier still about what was going to happen to his own brothers.  The fact that he had called Roman in, suggested he was going to continue with Adler’s plan with Castiel, but whereas normally he would have briefed Adler of his full intentions he had made a series of private phone calls.  

Michael had predictably been dispatched to head office to deal with some issue with the Seattle deal.  An issue that Adler suspected would suddenly and mysteriously require personal intervention and hence a little trip.  He licked his upper lip.  He hoped, if they were going to murder the little prick, he would be back in time to at least watch.  He scratched at the irritating loose skin and remnants of the infection in his palms subconsciously, as the familiar roar of jet brakes accompanied the lurch caused by the wheels hitting the runway.

\--- 

Dean lay in his bunk reading about the latest exploits of Baby Winchester.  Tracing the tiny figure on the photographs that Jess had taken of him squirming pink, podgy and beautiful in a puffy eco nappy (would Sam honestly allow anything else) on a large soft patchwork baby throw.  He stared at another image;  Sammy, the proud father, blowing raspberries on his infant son’s soft belly, his hands looking huge as he held him.  Jess’ neat signature and Sammy’s scrawl, were accompanied by a tiny blue hand-print.  “Saps,” Dean muttered, and folded the letter carefully, sliding it and the photos into the hidden sleeve he had made in his wall calendar, as the klaxon sounded to notify all prisoners it was time to make their way outside for the first of today’s exercise sessions.  

He rolled off his bunk and stretched his shoulders.  Benny was still on his work detail, and Dean was surprised to see Aaron Bass hovering on the landing just outside his cell. In his hands he held a book, which he thrust at Dean, who stared at it dumbly, and glanced at Bass, puzzled.  He shrugged.  “It’s a sunny day.  Figured you might wanna sit around the back in the sunshine and read.”

So instead of circuit training, Dean sat peacefully, back against the bleached out planks of the equipment shed, letting the sun soak into his skin, fingertips flexing against the grainy faux leather cover of the book.  If he closed his eyes, he could imagine he was on one of his roadside stops.  A guilty pleasure on sunny days, to sit in the sunshine on the hood of his beloved Impala, reading a book, or just relaxing.  All in all, there were worse places to sit out his remand he was sure.

Dean put down the book.  He had never really considered Mark Twain, and when he read the title, he figured maybe Aaron was teasing him. The Innocents.  But actually, it was good.  Funny.  His eyes were tired, and he closed them letting his head rest against the warmth of the wood behind him.

He woke with a start, the emergency klaxon was blaring, it's tone more shrill and screaming than the normal recall to cells. He jumped to his feet.  Someone yelled for him to get down, and he dropped instantly into a crouching position, watchful, putting his hands behind his head and rocking forward onto his knees as they had all been instructed to do in ‘situations’.  His line of sight was blocked by the equipment shed, but he could hear a scuffle.

The sound of the klaxon dropped, and the sudden silence was broken only by the sounds of the guards talking and someone groaning softly.  

“Dean!”  He heard Benny’s gruff voice, and he lifted his head.  To his surprise, his cellmate was approaching accompanied by Bass.  Dean grasped Benny’s outstretched hand and clambered to his feet.  

“What the hell...?" he started to ask his friend, staring with concern at the marks on his face.

“No time to explain now, Cher.  And I’m sorry, this is gonna hurt.”

\--- 

The drive had been a pleasant one, all things considered.  Jody stirred creamer and sugar into her coffee in the small McDonalds.  She had chosen her seat carefully and stared out of the window at the forecourt of the Lil’ Feller gas station.  A row of trucks parked up against its beige cream walls which were in turn festooned with adverts for BOGOF deals and cheap toilet rolls.

The coffee smelled good and she rolled her shoulders, willing herself to relax.  The first call from Agent Joe Lomax just over a week ago had been cryptic, to say the least.  The Winchester boys were in trouble again.  Or at least Dean was.  At first, she had thought it was just some routine inquiry, yet another background check after a bar fight.  Maybe a hospital trip.  She knew since Bobby’s death she was second on the next-of-kin list on the health insurance that Sam paid for.  The health insurance that Dean didn’t know existed and would be pissed about when he found out.  She shook her head fondly.  Dean was a stubborn ‘idjit’ to use Bobby’s phrase.  Lord, she missed that gruff son of a bitch.

She had rung Sam straight away, of course, as soon as she put the phone down in her office, closing her office door and using her cell so that the call was not recorded. He had answered on the third ring, the strain in his voice telling her right there and then that something was seriously up and he wasn’t just tired from caring for his newborn son.

She resisted the urge to check the police databases aware that the searches were recorded and instead made her excuses, grabbed her jacket and headed home.  The benefits of being Sheriff.  Then she rang the pre-arranged cellphone number.  She and Agent Lomax spent two hours speaking in coded sentences.  Henrikson could not risk contacting her or anyone else directly, he was fairly certain he was being watched.  So Lomax and Jody carefully invented a link with around the Kunsberger case that gave them an excuse for semi-regular telephone liaison.  She had somewhat reluctantly agreed to give Henrikson the Nightwalker files, she couldn’t see how they would help, but Henrikson seemed to think he would be able to do something for Dean.

Jody smiled to herself.  There must be something about the Winchester boys.  She thought back to the frightened colt-like teenager with straggly hair a little too long like his limbs, when he arrived in her station.  His story had been incredible, and she found herself treading a tightrope between what was right and what was legal.  Getting Dean transferred to her jurisdiction could easily have cost her her job, but in the end, the fact that the net result had bagged the Nightwalker had given her the opportunity to make her own deal.  And now, here was another experienced, long-standing investigator getting suckered into helping the Winchesters.  She shook her head and gave a little laugh, watching the slick brown contents of the paper cup forming a vortex as she stirred.  Yup, there was definitely something about the Winchester boys.

So here she was on her rest day, in Winner, a little this side of the halfway point between Sioux Falls and Lusk, waiting to meet the Agents for the first time.  She had spent most of the last two days, scanning the contents of her files onto a hard-drive in her office at home, leaving only the most delicate information in paper only format.  She took a sip of the coffee, it was still too hot to drink, so she stirred it some more.  Soft brown eyes vigilant for anything out of the ordinary.  This file and the information in it contained everything relating to the death of Mary, and the disappearance of John, and even with Sam’s blessing, it felt wrong to be handing it over.

Shrugging the worries aside, she hunkered into the soft hood of her parka and waited.  There was more at stake than just her career.  A dark, sleek sedan pulled onto the lot. She rolled her eyes.  It practically screamed ‘Agency’.  If they were being watched, it couldn’t be much more obvious.  Two men were stepping from the car, and her alarm bells started to ring.  By the time the two ‘agents’ had entered the McDonalds, all there was to see was a family party, noisily sharing happy meals, while a child played with a Disney themed toy, and a single cup of coffee, left on a table by the window, the light catching the still swirling surface.

\--- 

They were coasting down I18 when the steady trill of a phone woke Lomax from his doze in the passenger seat.  He answered on the third ring.

“Jody?”

Henrikson glanced at his colleague briefly, before returning his eyes to the road ahead.

“Yeah, we’re still en-route.  Nah - uh, we didn’t send anyone else.  Descriptions?”

Lomax flicked a glance at the Sat Nav on the console, as he listened.

“Yeah, OK. Stay safe, we’re about 15 minutes out.  It sounds like the perp who nearly got to Marcy yesterday.  Just keep yourself out of sight, Mills.”  He hung up.

\--- 

“Out of sight, huh?”  Jody echoed with a whisper, peering from her hiding place behind a truck in the parking lot of the Country Buffet. “Great advice, numbnuts.  There was me thinking I would just dance a solo in the middle of the parking lot.  Maybe hold an impromptu concert!”  There wasn’t much cover here.  Wide open parking lots in just about every direction and the two men had now reappeared from inside the McDonalds and were looking up and down the street.  Out of sight was easier said than done.

She made sure her cell was on silent and watched the two men returning to their sedan.  Their line of sight when they had entered the McDonalds had made it impossible to get back to her truck.  The only option had been to dart across the street to the next nearest building. As it happened it had also meant that she could not now break cover and get back to her vehicle without them seeing and she had no way of knowing if they knew what she looked like, or had her licence.

She bit the inside of her lip nervously. Winchester had better bring flowers when this shit was over if he ever wanted to sit down to dinner again!

\--- 

“Update?”  Henrikson mumbled.

“Two men, suited, dark Sedan.  Look like agency.”

“How’d she know they weren’t us?”

“Sent her our Idents.  One of the descriptions sounds like our assault on Marcy and her hospital visitor from yesterday.  The other, well,  it could be the guy that Angel sent sprawling in the dirt at the gas station.  Fits his overall.”

“Shit.”

“Indeed.” Lomax nodded.  “Shit.”  To their knowledge, only three people knew about today’s liaison.  So either Jody was being followed by the ‘grey’ man, and in Lomax’ opinion she was way too sharp for that, or they had a leak somewhere.  And it was far too great a coincidence not to think this was all connected back to the Angel family.  

Henrikson gunned the throttle and the turbo kicked in, surging them forward.  “You better ring that number.”  He said pointedly.  “We can’t risk leaving Lusk PD guarding our witness.”

Lomax nodded, keying the numbers into Henrikson's phone so that if Jody called back his own line was free.  He knew that once he made this call, they were no longer just off the page, they were out of the atlas and in all probability, his career was over.

\--- 

Dean stared in disbelief at the little black pistol shape in the officer’s hand.  He barely had time to register it before the pop and he fell back inelegantly to the ground as his whole body seized. The pain was horrific and he felt himself groaning, rather than heard it, his senses overwhelmed by the crackling crawl of pain throughout his whole body. His head hit the concrete and the air smelled of ozone.  The last thing he saw as he blacked out, his brainwashing back and forth in his skull, was the look of pity on Benny’s face as his broad orange-clad back turned and he walked away.

\---

From her vantage point across the road, Jody watched the two men. Mr Grey, as she had labelled the shorter, older man in her mind, had disappeared briefly into the store.  His colleague, who for the sake of shorthand she had nicknamed Scarface, was standing conspicuously equal distance between their sedan and her own truck.  She checked her cell. It was nearly ten minutes since she had hung up on the call with Lomax.  

Mr Grey had returned from the store and she watched as he strolled back to Scarface, the two talked.  Then with an entirely cliched glance up and down the street, they strode towards her truck.  With an expertise she couldn’t help but be impressed by Scarface was opening the door, to the point that she actually checked in her pocket to make sure she had her keys.

They began to systematically search her truck.  Well, good luck to them.  Unless either of them had a burning desire to wear sanitary protection or read her insurance documents the glove compartment was going to be a world of disappointment and the trunk was a jungle of equipment, but unlikely to help them much.  A few vehicles streaked past, breaking her view into intermittent snippets.

The sound of footfalls behind her, caused her to snap her head around. A middle-aged man was watching her quizzically, a young girl with coltish bony knees and a little boy sucking his thumb stood beside him.  "What the hell are you doing with my truck?"  

She straightened up, and reached for her badge, hoping to goodness that the two men were still too preoccupied with their thrilling expose of the contents of an off-duty sheriff’s second vehicle to notice them.  She glanced back across the street.  Luck was not on her side.  Scarface was staring straight at them, the sound of his voice drifting in the air and although she could not catch the content of his words, it was clear he was coming this way.

\--- 

Lomax was scanning the street, as they sped over a junction. Henrikson letting the momentum of the car slow as he spotted the golden arches ahead on his right.  “There.” Lomax pointed, almost at the same moment.  A stocky built black man was leaving a truck parked in the lot outside the squat McDonalds building, striding with purpose towards the roadside.  

Somewhere to his left, Henrikson saw movement.  A couple stood with two children beside a brilliant red truck.  The woman was shouting to him. An attempt at a warning. He realised this must be the Sheriff.  He slammed his brakes a little harder, skewing the sedan to a halt between the man on his right and the small group to his left.  

Taking no chances, Lomax was already half out of the car, going for his sidearm and Henrikson followed suit using the hood of the car and his open door for cover.  The stocky man turned back and started to run, so the sudden crack of gunfire shocked them both.  The front of the sedan lurched slightly, the ping and spark of contact sharp and close along the hood.  

“Fuck!”  Henrikson snapped.  Identifying the source as just beyond the truck in the MacDonalds lot.  He could just make out the sight of movement beyond the reflections of the truck and the lot in the plate glass.  He dared not return fire.  “You all right Lomax?”

“Yeah”

Another sharp cracking ping, this time followed a deep sustained hissing sound.  Henrikson glanced behind him.  Mills was protecting the two children, huddling them behind the truck.  He could not see the figure of the man who had been stood there with them only moments ago.

“Mills!  You carrying?”

“Negative,”  she shouted back.

Dammit.  Another quick volley of shots rang out and he ducked for cover instinctively.  He heard the return of fire from the other side of the car.  The two men were darting between the parking lots.  Henrikson levelled his weapon and took aim, but the first of the two had already flung himself into a sedan.  In the distance, Henrikson could hear the steady crescendo of sirens, easier to pinpoint in this open architecture.  The cavalry was on its way.  Without really thinking he stepped clear of his own vehicle and fired two shots into the back of the departing sedan, as it squealed away from him down the highway.  

Noting the plate, he turned back.  The dark haired woman he now knew was Jody Mills was ushering the two frightened children back towards the man, who hugged them both protectively.  He looked across to the passenger side and was halfway across the flat top before he had positively registered the reason.  Where Lomax should have been stood, was empty space, and all that he could see was a pair of sprawled suited lower legs below the open door of his sedan.  One black sole pointing motionless towards the sky.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Buckle up...

The sun was pleasant on his arm, the shining chrome of the window trim reassuringly cool from where the flowing air had taken chilled it.  Traffic and bees droned in subtle harmony and somewhere a bird was calling.  He turned his head and stared deep into patient, trusting blue eyes and felt a little surge of happiness.  His eyes dropped and he lent forward to capture the bubblegum pink lips, anticipating the soft warm comfort of the kiss. The leather of the bench seat crunched and squeaked slightly against his denim-clad thighs as he twisted.  Fingers reaching out to stroke into soft dark curls and close onto the warm skin at Cas’ nape.

Someone was tugging at his arm where it lay against the window frame, and he tried to shake them off, angry at the interruption.  A sharp, pinching sensation around his wrist dragged him back, and Cas was dissolving away from him.

He blinked, a scuffed duck egg blue paint finish swimming into focus briefly before his vision drifted back into a blur.  He groaned.  His head hurt. In truth, his whole body hurt. But his head hurt more.  A consistent pulsing, throbbing pain.  The dream drifted away, and a different pain overwhelmed the physical, as reality, raw and brutal surged back. He let out one little sob and turned his head, pushing his face into the pillow beneath him, wiping his damp cheek against the stiff harsh cotton.  The smell of the prison detergent destroying the brief illusion of contentment.

“Welcome back to the land of the conscious, Mr Winchester. You’ve disappointed me, Dean. I thought we had an understanding.”  He knew that voice, but where from… he blinked against the shards of brilliance that pierced his retinas, trying to lift his head so he could stare at the source of it.  Confused and dazed, he opened his mouth to speak, suddenly realising how dry and disgusting his tongue felt. Little more than a croak came out.  What the fuck!  He could barely swallow and an unwelcome taste of bile burned at the back of his throat.

He heard a door creaking open.  A normal door, not a cell door, where was he?  It smelt of prison, but this bed was softer than his bunk.  He closed his fingers round a metal rail, but that didn’t make sense, the bars were in the wrong place.  They ran the wrong way, or was he upright? He threw arms and legs in an effort to stop himself lurch to the floor, only to kick against bedding and rails. Dean tried to squint his eyes into seeing something that didn’t resemble an overexposed art print.  “Mr Crowley,” this voice was different, clipped and professional, but still kinder.  “Can this not wait.  He’s still concussed.”

Concussion.  That explained it.  So he’d hit his head.  When had he hit his head?  Or had someone punched him?  Would hardly be the first time he’d been punched.  But he’d listened so carefully to Benny.  He’d stayed out of trouble.  Followed every instruction.  He'd been so good.  If he was good and kept his head down, he would get out of here. He was only here for a few weeks, while they saved Cas. He was here to save Cas. Where was Cas?  Stupid boy. Cas wasn’t in jail with him. Benny was in jail with him, Cas was… Cas was… Jesus, he had to get out of here and find Cas.  He would be having nightmares without Dean to comfort him and quiet him back to sleep.  He started to struggle to sit up, to roll out of the bed, but his arms wouldn’t work.  Every time he tried to move them they got stuck. He tried to shake his head free of the confusion that seemed to be addling his brain, but only succeeded in making his head scream in pain, bright circles of light sparkled in his eyes and the super-bright world faded to black.

He felt tears sliding down the sides of his face in twin tracks and running into his ears.  He instinctively tried to raise his hands to wipe at his face only to have them snatch short, sniffing the salty sting back into his throat, he started to cough and the inside of his nose smarted; cold and sharp.

One blissfully cool hand touched his forehead and a tissue gently wiped at the corners of his eyes. Cas. Thanks, Cas. He tried to thank him aloud, but his mouth and throat were just too dry to make any noise.  He groaned as his eyelids were prised open and a bright light flashed first in one eye and then the other.

“Hush now, Dean.” That wasn’t Cas. Where had he gone? He wanted Cas to be here. “I’ll fetch you something to moisten your mouth and then we’ll see about some meds for that headache.”  Now that would be nice. His head did hurt.

“Thanks, Cas.”  He croaked it out, but even to his own ears the sound was painfully cracked.  Dumb ass, his brain tried to tell him.  That’s not Cas...

\--- 

Marcy Kunsberger stared at the extremely tall young doctor who had arrived in her hospital room, dressed in a white coat, a row of pens clipped neatly in his upper pocket.  He smiled at her reassuringly, as he ducked his head in through the door frame, beautiful glossy hair swinging softly with the motion of his head as he turned, closing the door softly behind him.  Bess, who had refused to leave, even during the night, stirred instantly on the folding bed the nursing staff had dragged up from maternity.  Marcy caught sight of the deep line of now mottled purple bruises on the girl's pale skin and her lips tightened into a thin line.

She turned her attention back to the young man. He glanced nervously at the door, as if afraid he would be overheard. “Mrs Kunsberger?  Please don’t be alarmed.  I know you had a nasty shock yesterday.  Agent Lomax rang me and I got here as quickly as I could.”

“Agent Lomax?”  Bess said, sitting up, sleep blinked back quickly from her bright eyes.  “Agent Lomax has been shot.”

“I know, Bess.  You are Bess, right?”  She nodded. “Lomax... Joe. He spoke to me, before… just before...  I’m friends with Jody Mills, the Sheriff, he was on his way to meet and you both know my brother, Dean." He paused, and grimaced as if at his own lack of articulation. "My name is Sam Winchester and I’m here to take you somewhere safe.”  Marcy stared at him, looking for any kind of resemblance and found none.  She let her gaze fall up and down his impressive height.

“You don’t look much like him.”  She said plainly.  He gripped the back of his neck and smiled at her ruefully from under his bangs.  “And,”  she said a little tartly, “you need a damned haircut.”

The smile spread into an impressive grin, as he nodded.  Glancing between them. “Yes, Ma’am.  My brother would wholeheartedly agree with you.”  He opened his wallet and took out a picture, passing it to her.  She squinted slightly.  A pretty blonde smiled out at her from the middle of the picture, her dress a startling white.  On either side of her stood two young men in matching suits and buttonholes.  One peering at the camera from behind a curtain of hair, his grin just as goofy as it was right now.  The other she smiled at fondly.  The image provoking the memory of two very similar young men, one who she had last seen some thirty years ago, the other… this young man’s brother.

“OK, young man… Sam...explain to me… why are you dressed like a doctor and where exactly am I going?  And for goodness sake, call me Marcy.”

\---

Spengler stared at the woman who had been escorted into the interview room.  “Mr Spengler?” She wasn’t young, but she was attractive. And very definitely not Dean Winchester.  He nodded, and then suddenly conscious that his mouth was agape, he snapped his jaw upwards and then found his voice.  “Who are you and where is my client?”

She held her hand out, smiling apologetically.  “I’m Missy, the Chief Administrator here.  I’m afraid Mr Winchester was involved in an altercation during the exercise session yesterday and by the time I realised you were coming today, it was too late to contact your office to let you know.”

Spengler blinked at her.  Missy?  Who the hell introduced themselves by their first name.  Or was she called Miss Missy?  “Erm… an altercation?”  Shit.  Was he too late?

“Yes, he was involved in a fight with another inmate in the yard and had to be tased for the safety of everyone concerned.  Unfortunately, he knocked his head as he fell and has been moved to the prison infirmary as a precaution.  The medical team has diagnosed a concussion…”

“A concussion?  Miss … erm … Missy.  I must insist on having access to my client.”

“An access that won’t be denied Mr Spengler, but unfortunately as there is no visitor accommodation in the infirmary attached to the maximum security wing.  And, as it isn’t possible to bring Mr Winchester to you while he is still under treatment, that access will have to be postponed.”

Harry sensed the steady determination behind the pleasant smile.  “May I get you something to drink?  While you wait?”

“Wait?” Spengler’s voice squeaked, slightly and he coughed in an effort to cover it. His mind galloping through his options.  

“For Mr Crowley…He would like to speak to you, in person.”  

Spengler was thinking about whether he had time to check in with the others first, but he heard himself saying.  “A coffee would be lovely.”  So he added hurriedly, “But I do need to call my office urgently.”

Missy nodded again.  “I can let you use the phone in the visitor centre office.  I’m afraid if you want to retrieve your cell, you will have to wait until you have signed back out.”

\---

Meg had brought the encrypted cell phone with her into Cas’ room.  She had been woken just after four am, by the insistent buzzing.  It had not been Bal, but Cas’ brother Gabriel.  She had been initially extremely cautious, as they had not spoken before, but no-one else had this number.  It seemed things had taken a sudden and alarming turn. She woke Cas as carefully as she could. Closing her hand gently over his mouth, in case he shouted or screamed.  He had been so shaken after Adler and his brother had spent several hours in his room pouring poison into his ears, that she had doubled the dose of his sleeping meds.  He would be groggy.

She felt him stiffen briefly and she whispered urgently into his ear. “S’OK Cas, open your eyes, sweetheart.  It’s just me.”  The fear in his eyes as he opened them, pierced her to her core.  “You have to get up Cas.  Gabriel is coming.  We’re leaving.  Today.”  She kissed his forehead gently and removed her hand, as lucidity replaced the fear.  Moving to undo the cuffs from his wrists and ankles.

“What’s happened? Is it Dean…”  he paused realising just how dark it was.  “What time is it?”

“Just after 5.  As far as I know, Dean is fine.  I don’t know all the details, Cas.  When I tried to contact Bal last night, he was already on the road with Sam.  Someone tried to ambush Sheriff Mills when she met with the feds who’ve been sniffing around.  One of the agents has been shot and the other one has been suspended pending an investigation.  Gabriel messaged me an hour ago and I’ve been prepping ever since. They think Adler was there, Cas. That’s why he wasn’t at dinner yesterday evening. Christ, I was so certain he was in here getting at you again.”  She shuddered. “I’ve was so damned anxious and I couldn’t let it show.  That meal was agony. If I didn’t know better I’d swear your bastard brother didn’t mention anything on purpose and I couldn’t just out and out ask...”

Cas gripped her hand.  “Come on, Megster.  Aside from scaring the crap out of me, the other night, Adler hasn’t done much worse than pull my hair, since I’ve been back here. You’ve hurt me more than that, punching me in the arm for teasing you!”

She swallowed and grinned at him, knowing he was pushing his own fears down to reassure her. “No-one knows where Adler is, Cas.  If it was him, he was in Wyoming just after lunchtime yesterday… he could get back here today.  Michael told me last night that there was some problem with the Seattle deal, he’s going into the office today and likely to be heading up there this evening, straight from work.  He was apologising for abandoning me to dinner with Raph.”

Cas’ mouth twitched into a curve in spite of the tension.  He knew Meg well enough to know she had developed quite a crush on his big brother, and he suspected it was probably mutual.  Michael was not normally quite so considerate. “So, you think that Raphael is clearing him out of the way so that he can…”

“None of us knows what to think, but we’re not taking any chances.”

“What is it?”  the chill had re-entered his voice.  “What aren’t you telling me, Meg?”

“Someone tried to kill Marcy, Cas.”

“Marcy?  Is she all right?”

“She’s fine.  I did say ‘tried’.  Sam and Bal are on their way to fetch her.  Jody is going to wangle them in past Lusk PD somehow.  I’m not sure.  They’re bringing her down to Vegas, and Gabe is coming here.  No-one wants to risk you being here any longer.”

“What about the investigation, the evidence gathering?”

“Evidence is no good if Raph spirits you away again, Cas.  The whole reason for you and Dean to play along was so that he didn’t suspect we were on to him.  If he has tracked your trail as far as Marcy, who knows what other information he may have.  There’s no point with them threatening Dean as they were, to leave either of you at risk any longer.” She pushed his backpack towards him, and a pile of dark clothes.  “I’m going to check where everyone is.  Get your ass dressed and I’ll be back in a few minutes. Gabe should be here in about two hours.  He says to get to your ‘den’ and hide in there until he gets here, says you’ll know where I’m talking about.”

Cas nodded.  “Typical Gabe. Do you think he realises I'm six foot now? It’s a treehouse, Meg. He helped me build it when I was a kid. It’s only a couple of feet off the ground, probably half fallen down by now. But the coppice should be dense enough to hide in. There’s a lane that runs down towards the lake.  It cuts along the back of the estate, there's a low rail fence runs along against the trees down there. We need to go now before it gets light, or we’ll be seen crossing the lawns. And we need to turn off the automatic security lights. The switches are in the utility room behind the kitchen.”

“OK, I’ll do that just as you set out.”

He stopped getting dressed, one leg in the dark combats she had given him.  “What do you mean?”

She shook her head, knowing he was going to be difficult. “I need to stay here, Cas.  Pretend you’re still in your room, like normal.  If I’m not around in the kitchen at breakfast, it will raise suspicions, and they’ll find out you’re not here, start searching.  We need to delay the discovery as long as possible.”

“No fucking way.  I am not leaving you here alone.” 

She sighed.  “As soon as Raphael and Michael leave for the office, and I know that Gabe has you, I’ll lock your bedroom door, slide the key underneath, then sneak out of the house.”

“What if you can’t get out? What if Adler arrives back, you said he could be back here today.  Or Raph decides to stay home for the day? It’s too dangerous.”

“Cas, we haven’t got time for this.  There is absolutely no reason for them to suspect me.  I’m just an agency nurse, remember.  Now stop arguing and do as you’re told. You’re gonna blow it. You have to get to the DA’s office, it’s the only way to get Dean out of jail.”  They stared at each other in the soft glow of the nightlight.  She kissed him. Hard. On the lips.  Just like she had when she wanted her own way when they were at college.  “Please, Cas.  Please.  Just do as you’re told.”

He shook his head, but it wasn’t a refusal.  He gave a little sob and kissed her back.  “Don’t make me do this Meg, please. I..."  

She wiped a tear from his cheek and whispering soft nothings she pressed their lips together one last time to silence him.  “You have to," she said firmly and slipped the encrypted phone from her own pocket, forcing it into his hand. With a confidence she didn’t really feel, she added.  “I’ll be fine.  As soon as I know you are safe, I’ll be out of here. I promise.”


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> OK, check the end notes for trigger warnings. There's nothing too heavy, but safety first peeps.
> 
> Thank you all for sticking with it.

_The wooden steps creak under his feet, and he climbs down.  This cellar smells metallic.  A memory clicks into place, prompted by the odour.  A visit to a small town with Dad.  They had visited an abattoir for reasons his Dad had failed to properly explained.  Another crazy detour into delusion central.  This room is tiled, walls, floor, ceiling, just like the butcher’s shop attached to the killing rooms from his childhood memory.  Only this room has a metal table, smack back in the centre.  Lights hang over it and the burnished metal reflects them so that the whole thing is dazzling.  There are things hanging over the table.  A metal snake.  A hose.  It’s a sluice system, he realises.  It looks like the set of a crime drama.  Except, this metal table has cuffs dangling from it.  Dean chills, as something else clicks into place.  You don’t need to chain down a corpse._

_There are ‘implements’ all neatly stowed on metal trolleys. Each set in its place, ready to hand, ordered and in line. Just like the tools in the garage, only sharper.  Behind the table, beyond more gleaming steel workbenches are shelves and shelves of samples in glass jars, lining the wall, the light glinting off the glass and the metal.  All the jars are labelled.  Dates and initials.  He doesn’t want to look closer, but he is drawn towards them._

_His fingertips trace the glass, as he realises what he is looking at. It’s like a museum of curiosities.  Amongst the bottles are things.  All sorts of things, the kind of things that are unimportant to the world in general. A folding comb, a metal whisky flask, a set of rosary beads, a watch still softly ticking, a pair of glasses. Dean shudders, a deep trembling shudder that shakes him right from deep inside. It reminds him of the piles of shoes in the documentaries about the holocaust. Shells of living beings. Trophies. Oh God, they are trophies. He is caught in a film. Any minute now there will be a jump scare._

_He looks away, not wanting to see any more of these personal things, and that’s when he notices the ledgers.  Big A4 bound ledgers. One of them is open, of course. Inviting his curious mind, practically screaming to be read. It’s Gordy’s handwriting, he recognises it from the invoicing sheets he spends his evenings filing. He flicks a couple of the pages, notes and diagrams slipping from the page into his brain. He reads a few lines and feels sick._

Subject PH.  Weight 204lb.  Height 5’10’.  Blood group O Neg.  

Subject denies participation.  Teeth remain retracted, even following ingestion of plasma.

Removal of teeth renders subject weakened...

_He stops reading. This can’t be real. He has to get out of here, ring the police, tell them.  Get Sammy from school first, then…_

_… he freezes… on the shelf, smiling it’s benignly kitsch little smile is the angel, his angel.  He picks it up, somehow he can’t leave it here.  Amongst all this… sickness. He holds it tight and feels the tears rolling down his cheeks at what it means. People dismiss him all the time, but Dean knows he’s smarter than people think he is.  And he knows what this means. There’s only one way that this ornament is here. Too late he hears the sound on the stairs behind him, and with fingers gripping tightly around the ceramic figure he turns._

_Gordy says nothing, just looms towards him, and all Dean can hear is his own voice and Gordy’s harsh breathing..._

_‘You killed them. You killed them both.’_

_Strong fingers are grabbing his wrists, prising his fingers open and he screams, ‘Give it back, it’s mine.  That angel is mine.’_

_He fights, and struggles, and it’s all grabbing hands and pinching fingers and pain as he fights and shouts and screams…_

_Get off me._

_Get off me._

_Get off me._

_The table is cold under his back.  He’s strong, but Gordy is stronger. To start with he stays silent, but he can’t, it’s too much. Leave me alone, please.  I don’t want this, please._

_I don’t, I don’t._

_No. No. No. Gordy, please, just leave me alone, please._

_He hears the threats and the curses and the comments echoing through his head.  Telling him how weak he is, how he should have kept his nose out, how and what it will cost him, and what will happen if he fights..._

_Oh God, no… Sammy?_

_You don’t need to cuff me.   I won’t fight, I promise, I won’t fight._

_Not Sammy!  No, please not Sammy._   _Do whatever the fuck you want to me, just leave Sammy alone.  Please, please, leave him alone..._

_Bastard._

_Please.  Don’t._

_No._

_Touch Sammy and I will end you._

_I swear._

_One way or another I’ll end you._

“God, he’s burning up.  How long has he been out of it like this?”  

He hears a sob and his face is wet and he realises it’s his own tears … _Sammy… just please don’t hurt Sammy..._

“It’s OK, Dean.”  The voice is not Gordy’s and the light shining in his eyes is not from the harsh clinical strip lights above the metal table, it’s rounder, moving, and with a click, it goes out.  The echoes of the light flash in his vision, but he also sees fingers and someone else’s face, too close to focus.  “You’re OK, Dean. Calm down.”  Cool hands touch his face.  Push his sweat-slicked hair from his face.  “You’re in the hospital, Dean. You’ve been dreaming. Hush. You’re safe. We just need to change your bedding and your clothes. Get you cleaned up.  Nothing to worry about, it’s just a bad dream. Hush.”

\---

He grumbles.  Fingers grip and shake his shoulder.  “Tryna sleep, Cas.  S’too early.”

A hand cups his cheek and turns his face.  “Cas,”  his whine is long and drawn out.  

Then Cas starts grabs his eyelids and pulls them open.   _Kinky bastard, Cas.  No playing Dr Sexy..._

Then the light hits his eyes, one at a time.   _Not Cas.  Ng._ “...wanna sleep…”

\---

_Voices.  Eyelids way too heavy to open.  Ears are always open.  Can’t shut them.  Sh, fuck off, noisy… fuckers...talk somewhere else…_

“Coffee?”

“Hm… yeah, thanks.”

“He woken up yet?”

“Only every goddamn hour.”

“Huh?”

“Not properly, by himself, but they’re doing responsiveness checks every hour. He was fighting and screaming the first few times, now he just mumbles rubbish when they wake him up.  Doc says it’s the concussion and the meds, but he’s coming through it.”

“That’s good news, then.”

“For you, yes.  What are you doing here anyway?  You don’t normally do nights. I thought you’d have to steer clear… Being the one who put him here…”

_Go the fuck away.  Tryna sleep here.  The lights are bad enough, but noise… it pounds._

“Need the money.”

“I heard Lafitte’s face is a mess. Getting his ass kicked by the new kid…that’s gotta hurt...stupid though, fighting with his parole coming up.”

_Benny. Who would hurt Benny? Why? Benny’s nice._

**_Sorry, Cher, this is gonna hurt._ **

_See, Benny tried to warn him, tried to look out for him.  S’not Benny that got hurt, s’me. Fuckers… no-one should hurt Benny._

\---

Pain.  Bile and pain.  He coughed, choking a little, throat burning.  “One. Two…” Arms slid under his armpits, someone on either side of him, dragging him up into a sitting position.  “Three.” Someone grunted.  It might have been him, and then he was retching, coughing and retching and spitting bile.  Rough cardboard brushed his chin.  “Steady.  You’re OK.  Rinse.” _Rinse?_ Cold and hard against his lip, water on his lip, and cold on his chest.  Rinse.  Bitter bile, diluted.  

“What’s your name?”  

“ng...sleep.”

“What’s your name?”  Bright lights in his eyes.  He tried to push them away, but his hands wouldn’t come.

“...tired…” it sounded petulant, even to his own ears.  A whiny voice.

“Tell me your name and you can go back to sleep.”

“Winchester.  Dean Winchester.”

“Good lad.  Last rinse.”  

Ah, cool, cool water.  Spit. Sleep.

\---

“And where are you, Dean?” He wished they’d just fuck off and let him sleep. The pain wobbled somewhere in his head.  Still there, just not hurting, exactly… just being… in his head. _What is a pain called when it doesn’t hurt?  Is it still a pain?_

**Get you, bro, getting all existential about a sensory experience…**

_Bite me, Sammy._

“Dean, where are you?”   _Persistent fucker.  And why always the same damn questions?_ “Where are you?”   _Unfortunately, he’s right fucking here._

“You lost or summat?”  He swallows, damn his throat hurts.

A chuckle.  Well, he’s glad someone’s still laughing.  “I need you to answer the question, Dean.  Where are you?”

“‘ospital?”

“Yes, the infirmary.”  Blessed cool hands on the back of his neck.  Lifting. Cold water on his lips, just a dribble, but...he’s grateful anyway.

“S’nice... wanna sleep.  Thanks, Cas.”   _I know, I know, s’not Cas.  But I can pretend, can’t I?_  

“OK Dean, you sleep now.”

\---

“What season is it?”  

_Season?  Wtf?  What am I?  The weatherman?_

“What season is it Dean?”

“Spring.”

Again with the bright lights in the eyes.  

“...hurts.”  He screws his eyelids tight against the pull of insistent fingers.  

“I need to check your dilation response, Dean.”

He suppresses a whine and lets his face relax, forcing one eye to open, blinking against the brilliance of the torch.  “Good lad.  Think you can swallow a couple of pills?”

He nods.   _Ow, bad idea._ Pain and reeling, rolling dizziness.  Fingers pulling his mouth open, something on his tongue.  

“Drink Dean.  Swallow these.  Just to help with the headache.”  A cup pressed to his lip, he slurps the water and swallows.  The pills dissolving slightly and leaving that horrible medicinal taste lingering on his tongue.

He tries to lift his hands to wipe his face, but the clattering sound of metal on metal.  Of course.  He squints at his wrists, vision still too blurry, but the clanking sound, the lack of movement.  He’s manacled to the bed.  

“Just sleep now, Dean.”  

_At last, an instruction he’s glad to follow._

\--- 

Someone is humming.  Softly, barely audible as they move.  The steady swish of fabric against fabric, and occasional incidental noises.  

“That song you’re humming, nurse.  What is it?”  A voice Dean recognises, one of the many guards from the wing.

“An old lullaby,  my grandma used to sing it to me.” The nurse replies and there’s a hint of humour in his voice.  Dean knows why, but the guard must be oblivious.

“It’s pretty,”  The guard says. “Is it classical?” _It’s fucking November Rain, you moron._ He smiles to himself and drifts back off to sleep before the headache that is circling somewhere just out of awareness comes back and takes hold.

\---

He’s ravenous.  Really, really fucking hungry.  His stomach gives a gurgling growl of agreement.  He opens his eyes and smiles.  The nurse winks at him.  “Welcome back.”

He stretches his neck and stares at the metal fixing his wrists to the bed rails.  Apart from that one little visual clue, and the sheer ‘prison’ stench of the place, it could be any hospital room.

“Answer my questions and I’ll give you some more meds.”

Dean smiles.  “Bet you say that to all the guys...How about breakfast instead?”  He blushes when he suddenly realises the implication of his remark.

The nurse raises his eyebrows, but he’s smiling. “Nuhuh.  Sorry buddy, you’re still not out of the woods quite yet, can’t have you choking on your own vomit.  But the drugs’ll make up for it. Promise.”  He chuckles and Dean can’t help but chuckle back.  Dean allows him to take his pulse, and answers the predictable questions, resisting the urge to snark.  

The nurse drops the pills into his hand and gives him a small plastic glass of water.  Dean takes them without protest, glad of the anticipated respite from nausea and the throbbing pinch that matches his steady pulse. He’s no stranger to this kind of head injury, it’s just that he usually knocks back some Advil and sleeps it off.  

“Any chance you can take these things off, so I can hop to the bathroom?” The manacles rattle against the bed rails, and he meets the eyes of the male nurse once again.

“Orders, I’m afraid.” the nurse mutters and turns back with a cardboard urinal in hand.  Dean shrugs and lets his head fall back gently, closing his eyes, resigned to it, as the nurse efficiently pulls back the covers and he relieves himself.

“Erm...I hope you don’t mind me saying… but those are quite some nightmares you had.”  The nurse says softly, as he balances the bottle on his trolley and Dean freezes slightly.   _Oh God, what has he given away?_ “Relax, patient/medic confidentiality.  I can’t… wouldn’t… repeat a word of it.  But if you decide… later on, I mean… that you want to seek some help.  Well...there’s resources available.”

Dean opens his eyes and is met with a look that contains only kindness and understanding. The nurse pats his hand, and Dean lets his head fall back into the pillows as the sedative kicks in.

\--- 

Dean sighed heavily as he was woken again.  He pulled his head back into the softness of the pillows, anticipating fingers touching his face, expecting to have the torch shone into his eyes. He rattled off the list with real irritation. “Dean Winchester.  Prison infirmary.  You’re a nurse.  I’m safe.  And it’s not fucking Summer yet.”  He squinted, gagging slightly under a ripple of nausea that kept coming and going.  “…and I really, really wish you’d stop shining that frigging torch in my...”

“Now, now Mr Winchester, I had no idea you were so churlish.  Ephraim was only doing his job and making sure you stayed alive to enjoy your punishment.  I think you’ve spent quite enough time lolling around in bed, don’t you.  Let’s get you all cleaned up, you want to look your best for Mr Spengler.  He’s going to be your only visitor for quite some time.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK so there's heavily implied past sexual and/or physical abuse here. There is absolutely no description of abuse, no specifics or details. just garbled memories in a concussion induced confused dream.


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ... at last a bit of respite...

Driving on autopilot, he’d silenced the radio long ago.  Unable to bear to listen to any music as the roads and junctions became increasingly familiar.  Familiar, yet holding that hint of alien that passing years bestow.  Small differences making every twist and turn appear to be just a little off key.  The odd missing tree, or altered road sign jarring against his memory of the route home.  A fresh stretch of a barrier, or a new building where once had been open ground.  The sense of otherworldliness exacerbated by the decolourisation of high beams picking out each highlight only briefly.

He was impossibly nervous.  He let his normally unflappable demeanour drop in the privacy of the hire car.  Three or four times he had convinced himself that he was being followed, only to have the vehicles innocently turn off, or alternatively continue along the highway as he turned off himself, before mentally kicking himself for being so lame.  What were the chances that anyone would be following an anonymous hire car?  Raph was a clever snake, but he wasn’t omnipresent.  It just felt like he was at times.

The biggest surge of adrenalin was reserved for the moment he turned down the lane towards the lake.  The first rays of dawn had begun to rise nearly an hour before, but he turned his lights off only as he approached the turn.  Careful, although it had meant a ten-mile detour to achieve it, he had approached without passing the main entrance to the estate.  This trackway had not changed one iota.  Every pothole and gouge where vehicles had bottomed out on the rutted track seemed to be unchanged.  He selected a low gear and let the car crawl forward under tick-over.

He drove all the way down to the lakeside and parked up.  A couple of other early risers were already there.  He could see someone fishing from the pontoon where he had taught his scrawny, irritating little brother how to swim.  He smiled at the memory, for the first time in years it was not soured with regret.  He scrolled open his phone and sent a simple message.  Three little emojis. An angel, a thumbs up and a car. He waited, breath held.  It seemed an eternity before it chirped back at him.  He glanced at it.  Turned slowly in a big circuit around the gravelly expanse of the car park and set the car back down the lane.

Almost at the last moment, he remembered to hit the lock overload, so that when the dark figure suddenly hurtled out of the trees to his left, they were able to yank open the rear door and throw themselves onto the rear bench seat, dragging the door shut behind them.  He listened to the panting sound somewhere behind his seat and couldn’t resist.

“You throw up down there, little brother and you’re cleaning it up.  I’m not gonna lose my deposit this time.”

He smiled as he heard an indignant grunt.  “I was 7 years old, Gabe and you stuffed me full of 15 flavours of ice cream topped off with jellybeans and toffee sauce.  After all this time do you not think you ought to let that one go!”

He watched the white melt from his own knuckles, as his grip on the steering wheel relaxed.  He tapped the central locking button, feeling more secure with the doors locked. His eyebrows raised involuntarily; the depth and timbre of that almost familiar voice were going to take some getting used to.  His baby bro was all grown up.

\--- 

Meg dressed in her uniform, brushed her hair and fastened it back with a bungee tie.  She glared at her own cell phone, willing it to beep.  It had already provided a false alarm when it told her it was fully charged.  She flicked it onto silent and slipped it into her pocket.  It was time to go to the kitchen.

The house was oddly quiet, even allowing for the early hour, so the vibration in her pocket as she tripped down the less ostentatious sweep of the service staircase seemed not only audible but loud.  She checked it, and a relieved smile played on her lips.  Three neat little emoticons, pre-agreed code.  A smiley face, an angel and a bird. Cas was away, now all she had to do was flirt amicably with the chef as usual while the coffee machine and the waffle maker created the perfect breakfast, take said breakfast to Cas’ room, and as soon as the coast was clear, slip away unseen herself.

\--- 

Marcy stared at the opulence of the suite with something akin to disdain.  Having spent the last few hours in her company, as they transferred from private ambulance to medi-jet and then to the comforts of a discreet people carrier, Sam could not help but chuckle.

She gave him a sharp look, and he pulled his face straight quickly, putting the bag he had refused to relinquish to the hop and insisted on carrying himself onto a table.  “My wife and I are right next door, Marcy.  We tend to eat in our room.  I’d love you to join us later, but I understand if you’re too tired or just want some peace and quiet.  This is all pretty overwhelming for you I’m sure.”

“Eat with you, eat alone, it’s all the same to me,” she muttered, but he knew her well enough already to sense her pleasure at the invitation.  “Tomorrow’s going to be a busy day, Sam Winchester, and you’ve left your wife coping on her own long enough, you best go and make sure she’s willing to have a guest.”

He smiled.  “Jess will be delighted to meet you,” he said. “She’d kick my ass if I didn’t ask you.”  He left her to her privacy and pushed open the door to his own suite.  

Jess met him with a concerned smile, stretching up to push his hair back from his face. He looked at her a little puzzled to be met at the door.  “They rang from the desk,” she explained. “Kali has been in here all day.  Judging by all the pacing around and occupying her mind and hands, I guess that ‘helping me with JD’ and ‘keeping me company’ was a secondary benefit.  It’s sweet how much they worry about each other.”

“Is he…Did he get Cas?”

“They’re on there way back here.  Cas took quite some convincing that he couldn’t just go straight to the DA’s office, apparently … Kali has managed to pull some strings and arranged a meeting for tomorrow afternoon.  She suggests we all meet up after Dinner to go over the strategy and sort out what Cas is going to say. You look tired, Sam.”

“I am.  It was a long night, and Bal is … well, let’s just say, he’s interesting company.  I actually can’t wait to see him and Dean together!”  He laughed, suddenly, he could see an end in sight, and it seemed at once wondrous and terrifying. “Cas may have his work cut out keeping the peace between those two. Where’s JD?”

“Sleeping. Want me to run you a bath, while we have a little peace and quiet of our own?”  He kissed her softly.  Enjoying the smell and warmth of her.  “I could join you…  ” she murmured, flicking him a look from under her eyelashes.

He let his hands drift down from her sides and tapped at the back of her thigh in invitation.  She jumped slightly and he lifted her easily, letting her wrap her long legs around his waist.

“You’re not still too sore?”

She nipped at the scruff that had grown along his jawline.  “Sam Winchester! I was offering to scrub your back, and help do my bit for water conservation, how can I be too sore for that...”

“Sure you were,” he drawled lazily.  “Tell me, Mrs Winchester, what’d I do to deserve you?”

“I don’t know.”  She peppered his neck with soft nipping kisses, in between her words. “Maybe you’re just much more of a good boy than you realise.”

“Hm,” he stretched his neck, angling to let her reach further.  “Maybe we should save even more water by going straight to bed…”

She giggled and with a sharp little nip struggled to drop her legs down.  He let her go, and she grabbed his hand to lead him towards the bathroom.  He huffed a little laugh, as a tiny snuffling cry indicated his son was waking up.  Hungry.  He let himself fall back onto the couch as Jess disappeared into the bedroom.  By the time she came back, with JD in her arms, Sam was sound asleep.

\--- 

Crowley desperately wanted a cup of tea.  He liked it when his world ran like clockwork.  Tick. Tock. Clockwork. Simple days, with his work routine, measured out by pots of tea.  Well to be more precise his ‘decision about who he was going to delegate the work to’ routine, measured out by pots of tea.  And he liked to start that routine at a reasonable hour.  After he’d had his first quiet, settling pot of tea.  Not in the switch between dawn and the day before the shift changeovers were complete.

He strolled along the corridor away from the maximum security wing musing on the whole Winchester fiasco and why it was unsettling him so much. The paperwork was an irritation. There was a lot of paperwork to complete when a taser was used.  Not to mention the amount of paperwork to complete when a remand prisoner ended up in the infirmary.  Thankfully he was making a full recovery but that still left the pile of paperwork required to transfer him into solitary.

He had to admit, he was shocked, truly shocked. Crowley prided himself on being able to read a man’s nature and intent from the briefest of conversations.  He’d have laid odds on Winchester being no trouble whatsoever and according to the wing supervisor, Benny had worked his usual magic and Winchester had been getting along great. On paper, of course, he was a dangerous criminal. And Crowley did not doubt he had _capabilities_. But, there was something measured in the way he looked out at the world from that handsome face.  A facade of arrogance covering a deeply intelligent mind, that shone out of those soft green eyes.  Sensitivity behind the bluster.  

Crowley pursed his lips, thinking.  He’d read the brief little report from the medic.  The concussion had revealed a previous trauma, the exact nature and extent unrevealed.  

A hand closing on to Crowley’s arm. Soft eyes boring into him. “This boy has been through a lot.”

He shook himself.  Damn Ephraim and his _feelings._ There was no place for feelings when you run a prison.  Most of the inmates in here were here because of what had happened to them before they made a mistake or made the choice to become part of the cycle.  That was the bitter melancholy, few people were born evil, they were just corrupted by life. Perhaps he was just feeling disappointed in himself, after all, he had been convinced that there was going to be a quiet sit out of the remand and then Winchester would leave and probably not return.  Because although, obviously, he didn’t give a damn, one way or another for the innocence or guilt of the men here so long as they gave him no trouble, he doubted somehow that he was dealing with a deranged kidnapper.

Then suddenly seemingly out of the blue, the fight with the big ole Cajun bear! And the kid did indeed have some skills if the bruises on Benny’s face and upper body were anything to go by.  Not to mention the fact that it had probably blown Lafitte’s chances of making his parole hearing unless this whole thing was cleared up very quickly, he would at the very least be postponed to the next round of hearings.  And if he was in anyway guilty he would not be getting parole this year.  It was a mess.  

He had yet to speak to Lafitte himself, seeing only the images of his injuries taken as evidence. If it had been Alastair reporting it to him, he would not have believed it, assuming it to be some attempt at revenge against Benny.  But the rookie Bass had witnessed it, and he was almost painfully honest.  His brief explanation that he had come round a corner on the exercise yard to see Lafitte and Winchester engaged in a fist fight.  He had shouted a warning, Lafitte had stopped, but Winchester was like a thing possessed.  Dangerous and damn near unstoppable.  So… no option really...taser deployed to disable the threat.

Now Bass would spend today’s shift filling in pages of pages of the report on the incident and his decision to deploy his Taser.  A statement would be taken from Lafitte.  Winchester had spent his time since the incident in the infirmary in a room on his own manacled to the bed (Restraint Form 12b).  In approximately half an hour he would sit with Crowley and his lawyer while his statement was taken and then after that he was going straight to solitary (Movement and isolation of vulnerable and/or potentially violent prisoners) four separate documents, recording any incident or evidence to support the decision, the justification of the decision, the removal from the existing accommodation and finally the criteria for return to general populace, including a proposed timescale.  

Then Crowley would sign the order to confirm the suspension of all privileges, no visitation, no phone calls and no socialisation.  And then he would write a report to go back with the court papers for the hearing, so the goddamned DA could decide whether to add this to the list of charges...Crowley gave a little growl - he could already feel the cramp in his typing finger.

A mass of paperwork was cascading towards him like storm surge in his imagination.  However, if Winchester would attack Lafitte he would attack anyone, and if he could hurt Lafitte, goddamn.  The paperwork required on the damage he would cause to anyone else would bury a full week.  So it really was a case of a stitch in time to save nine.  He glanced at his rather elegant wristwatch and gave a little sigh.  He had spent most of yesterday afternoon in discussion with Winchester’s 12-year-old lawyer, and now he was about to spend even more time with him.  No-one that young and naive should be allowed out without their mother.

“Mr Crowley,”  the voice breaking through his thoughts was nasal, sibilant. It made his skin crawl. He rearranged the arched eyebrow and sneer it evoked into something approaching an impassive face and turned to face the one man he really disliked more than any other in this entire building.  He was also the one man he trusted least, which was quite something considering he was staff and not an inmate.  “I was wondering…”

“Yes, Alastair?” Crowley said, the hint of a smile not reaching his eyes, which appeared inky in the half-light of the badly lit corridor that stretched between maximum security and the Reception and Office blocks.  Alastair caught up and dropped into pace alongside him, as Crowley restarted his steady stroll.

“Will Winchester be returning to his cell, or will we need a detail in isolation tonight?”

“That will be a matter for the wing supervisor, Alastair.  Not something you need worry yourself about.”

“I was merely going to volunteer for the extra hours if you needed…”

“Very kind of you, I’m sure your superior will appreciate it, but no-one will be required for extra shifts, or change to their hours.”

“Oh, only I thought as Bass was covering extra nights, there might be… opportunities…”

“I believe you are due on duty within the next few minutes, Alastair.”

“Yes, Mr Crowley.  But you know, anything I can do to be of service…”

Without response, Crowley paused, making a show of checking his pockets, as if he were looking for something.  When Alastair stopped, too, he flapped his hands in a gesture of dismissal.  “Scurry along now,” he said.   You little cockroach, his mind added.  He raised his eyebrows at Alastair.  “You’ll be late!” He snapped.  He waited, watching with distaste as Alastair trotted away, happy to make sure that he was as far away from this odious man as he could get.  He made a note to himself to check what the hell the Supervisor was doing giving Bass the go-ahead to do a night shift.

\--- 

Much to Meg’s surprise the kitchen was quiet.  The coffee machine burbled softly, and she grabbed herself a cup, yawning, wondering idly where John-Paul was.  Normally he would be prepping for dinner, even if he wasn’t preparing breakfast for everyone.  Ah well.  Perhaps it was better to be alone.  Now that the adrenaline-inducing scramble to get Cas out of the house was over, the lack of sleep was catching up quickly and she didn’t really feel like having to put up a pretence.  She rubbed her temples and the bridge of her nose.  All she had to do now was play it cool, surreptitiously scope where everyone was, take her usual breakfast to Cas’ room, listen for the sounds of the Angel brothers’ departures to the offices and then sneak away.

She had her car keys in her tunic pocket.  With luck, she could simply drive away.  Failing that, she would trek cross country to the nearby town, and catch a bus into the city, and then a cab to Atlantic City. The coffee was extra bitter this morning, and she lazily stirred in some sugar and cold water, so that she could drink this first cup quickly.  She waited for the familiar buzz as the caffeine, sugar combo hit her system.  Man, she was tired.

\--- 

Dean stared at Crowley, his mind trying to make sense of what he was being accused of.

“I didn’t … I don’t remember…” He moved to rub his hand on the back of his neck, twisting awkwardly so that the chain linking ankles and wrists let him reach. Crowley threw the photographs of Benny onto the table.  He was bruised and battered his lip severely split, both eyes swollen, one almost shut.  Dean shook his head, the remnants of the headache still lurking in there somewhere.

“The statements are plain. Two independent witnesses who saw you attacking Benny Lafitte.  He is predictably refusing to say what the two of you were fighting about.”  

Dean stared first at Crowley and then at the fidgeting form of his lawyer, Spengler.  He didn’t remember it like that.  At all. “I didn’t attack Benny.  I wouldn’t.  He’s my friend… at least I thought he was… I don’t understand this at all.”

“So you, are trying to tell me,” Crowley’s voice was a low and dangerous growl and Dean strained to listen to it, until it started to rise in pitch to a shout, “that three people, INCLUDING ONE OF MY GUARDS AND A BATCH OF PHOTOS ARE ALL PART OF SOME ELABORATE SET-UP!”

Dean flinched slightly, his headache ringing in time to the rhythm of Crowley’s voice. Spengler looked absolutely terrified. Dean slowly closed and then re-opened his eyes, letting them lift from the table to stare Crowley down as he did so.  “I… did… not… lay… one… finger… on… him.  Which guard?”  He asked, looking straight at Spengler. “Which guard was it?”  Dean snapped.

Spengler pulled his notes open, scanning them, before replying with an anxious glance at the Governor.  “Bass.  Officer Aaron Bass.”

“Well, Harry.  Mr Crowley.  It was Bass who suggested… more or less told me… to go and sit out the exercise session.  I was dozing in the sun, half reading a book… a book Officer Bass gave me.”  He stared at his hands and muttered more to himself than anyone else.  “This doesn’t make any sense… why would they do this?”

“Why indeed,”  Crowley said.  “Lafitte wouldn’t have started this fight.  He won’t make his parole hearing this month with this hanging over his head.  And it will come up when he does get the chance.  So that leaves only one conclusion…”

Dean stared at Crowley.  “You can’t… he… he has to get parole.  Andrea’s waiting, he has a job to go to… you can’t stop him.”

“Well isn’t that sweet, you beat him to a pulp, for reasons you conveniently can’t remember, and _then tell me I can’t prevent him getting parole?!_ I think you have the cause and effect a little skewed in that battered little noggin of yours!  Unless Benny is cleared as a totally innocent party…  he will be staying right here for at least another 12 months.” Crowley said. “And conspiracy theories aside, it will be up to the DA to decide whether to add your little ‘scrap’ to your list of charges.  My guess is he will jump at the chance… so you’ll have plenty of time to console Lafitte.”

Crowley was surprised at just how distraught the young man looked.  “If I admitted it was all down to me…”

“Dean!.”  Spengler was staring at him with alarm.  “Don’t say another word!”

“... _if_ … I were to tell you that Benny was totally without blame… or even prove to you that it was someone else who attacked him… would he still be able to get his parole hearing?”  

“Mr Winchester.  Dean.  I don’t doubt you are a remarkable young man.  But based on the evidence and statements made to me so far, I have no choice.  For your own safety and that of your fellow inmates, you are going into solitary. All your privileges are suspended.  No visits, no calls, no socialisation.  So short of making that statement… there is very little you can do to help Benny… or yourself for that matter.”

“I must insist that this conversation ends now.  I need to discuss options with and provide advice to my client, so that he can add his own statement to the evidence,”  Spengler protested.

“Indeed,” Crowley said dryly.  “Now pleasant as this has been.  I have … documentation… to oversee.”

His chair scraped as he stood up and with a nod to the guard outside, the door opened with an irritated little buzzing sound, leaving Spengler and Dean alone.

“I’m sorry Dean.  If Crowley does push this to the DA, and he decides to press charges, you will end up serving time here. Even when we get the other charges dropped.”

Dean stared at his own hands.  “I really don’t remember… what I remember it just doesn’t match up.  It doesn’t make any sense, but I… I like Benny, Harry, I can’t believe I would have attacked him.”

“Maybe you were defending yourself.”

Dean scoffed. “I can’t believe that Benny would do anything to me… I just … I thought he was my friend.”

Spengler pursed his lips in consideration. “There’s a statement from another inmate.  A Frank Devereaux…”

“Frank!?  His nickname is Skitz, Harry.  He thinks angels visit him in his cell, and that the government are trying to use us all for experimentation.  He spends most of his time, trying to decide whether the listening devices are in his oatmeal or his socks…always babbling about jarheads and killing innocents...some kind of veteran's PTSD, I guess...”

“Well, your friend ‘Scitz’ made a statement that you were arguing over a late library book…“ Spenger’s voice trailed off momentarily in disbelief.  “A late library book?  Really?”

Dean shrugged, and pinched the bridge of his nose, as a counteraction to the re-focussing headache.  His eyes were blurring.  He flexed his fingers and stared at the backs of his hands, trying to clear his mind without resorting to a pony shake.  For some reason, it always seemed like such a good idea, until about 5 seconds in. Maybe he was finally beginning to learn...

“I’ll be honest with you Dean, this is troubling.  Your claim to have no memory of the incident...

“...MY CLAIM...”

“Calm down.  I believe you all right.  This whole thing stinks.  But we have to work out the best action to take.  The DA is already pressing for a psych report on you.  An unprovoked attack on someone who was widely regarded as a ‘friend’ of yours… ”

“Fucking hell.  So if I tell the truth, they’re gonna use it to imply I’m crazy, whereas if I cop to something I didn’t do, I’m likely to end up serving time anyway and prove I’m crazy.  Talk about Catch 22.”

Spengler nodded, picking at a loose thread on his suit buttons.  

“Not to mention the fact that Benny will lose his chance to go home…”

“Your loyalty is admirable Dean but has it occurred to you yet, that he might have set this whole thing up.  Maybe he’s being paid to keep you here… or getting some other favour out of it.”

“Harry.  I might have only known him a few short weeks, but I… he’s just not like that, OK. And someone beat the crap out of him.  Look at those bruises.  Someone hit him with real … force… “  Dean’s voice trailed off.  He stared at his own hands again.  The scars telling tales of many fights with both humans and car parts over the years.  

“Spengler?”

“Yeah.”

“Do you have a camera, Spengler?”

“No, but I can request one… why what do you wanna photograph?”

“Look at me, Spengler.  Aside from a whopping great egg on the back of my head, and a vampire bite on my chest from the fucking Taser… where are _my_ bruises?  If I had been in the mother of all fist fights like Scitz and Bass described, my face would look like Benny’s, and more importantly still.  To inflict that kind of damage to his face… My hands would be a mess.  Trust me.  I’ve been in enough fist fights to know.”  He held his hands up to Spengler, and the young lawyer gave him a smile of genuine triumph.  


	18. Chapter 18

 

Meg glanced again at the kitchen clock.  Cas had only been on the road for about 30 minutes.  It was still early.  Michael had said he was going into the office early, but did that mean before breakfast? And there was always usually someone around.  One of the drivers, or a groundsman or two.  The house was too damned quiet.  She began to feel a little uneasy.  There was a distinct lack of other people about.  Even if Jean-Paul wasn’t here, where was everybody else?

She finished her coffee and set the mug on the counter debating whether she wanted a refill.  She filled a bowl with muesli and opened the fridge to grab milk and juice, ready to continue the pretence of taking her breakfast up to Cas’ room.  The more time she could buy him before his absence was discovered the more chance that he was well away,  if she could just make sure someone saw her going into the room, she could wait a few moments and then carry on with her plan to sneak out and that would buy them the whole day.  The more of a lead they had over Raphael the less time he had to spread his malevolence.

She jumped slightly as the door to the patio behind the kitchen swung open.  

“Ah, Nurse Masters.  Sorry.  I appear to have startled you.” _Speak of the devil..._

“Good Morning Mr Angel.  No need to apologise, it was just incredibly quiet this morning.  I was just going to grab some cereal and juice.  I assume Jean-Paul is sleeping in...”

“Jean-Paul?”  Raphael sounded mildly confused.  “Oh… you mean the chef… I’m afraid we’ve been rather spoiled up to now.  But with only the two of us to feed it seemed an unnecessary extravagance.”

“The two of us?”  She repeated stupidly.

“Now that Michael has left for Seattle.”

“Oh, of course.  Is Mr Adler not coming back today?”  She tried to keep her voice light as if she was merely making conversation.

“No… Mr Adler has been called away.  Security issues elsewhere… the dangers of allowing one’s staff to be drawn too thinly...”  he let his voice drawl to a finish.  “Why don’t you stay here to finish your breakfast?  Your diligence in taking care of my brother is noted, but I’m sure you can be spared a few minutes to take your own meal, rather than eating on the job.  So rough on the stomach I find, not to take time to digest.”

Meg stared at him.  She pulled her face into a smile.  “I prefer to make sure he…”

“Do sit.  Nurse Masters. I’m sure even my exceptional young brother will find it hard to get up to much mischief while restrained _and_ sedated.”

With little choice to do otherwise, Meg sat.  Nearly jumping as her phone began vibrating subtly in her pocket, she reached for a spoon and,  with a nonchalance she did not feel, began munching on her cereal, as Raphael unbidden, refilled her mug with coffee.

\---

Michael stared at the papers on his desk.  He had re-read the same report three times without it making sense, and he knew reading it a fourth was not going to make it any more coherent.  He had originally planned to read it on the plane, but it had been there in his in-box when he returned from his meeting in Raph’s office just after ten… he was so preoccupied with thinking about that meeting, he’d opened it, hit print and started to look at it before he’d even thought about what he was doing.

He stood up and stretched. He was glad to have Cas at home, he was also inordinately grateful they had found Nurse Masters.  Meg.  He allowed himself a brief fond smile. She was incredibly knowledgeable, more so, Michael believed than Dick Roman.

He could not understand Raphael’s trust in the psychiatrist. He had let Lucifer… He still could not bring himself to express it even in thought, the surge of grief; sudden and brutal.  They had lost the Luci of childhood, years ago, but he had always seen little hints peeking through in his e-mails and during his far too infrequent visits. He had thought maybe… certainly hoped… with treatment… He knew they would never get sweet unblemished, innocent Luci, full of love and joy and colours back, but maybe they would get the grown man who was undoubtedly there somewhere.  Now they never would, and the pain at knowing the opportunity was lost was indescribable. His own guilt and regret at not going to see him more...had it really been two years since he’d taken the trip upstate? How had he let it be that long? There was always some function to be attended, or some business crisis to be dealt with… or Lucifer himself going through a bad spell, where Roman had said that visiting would be ‘detrimental’. He pulled open his desk drawer and pulled out a bottle of his father’s scotch.  He felt like a teenager again, swiping liquor from Dad’s snug… although in truth he’d bought this himself.  He took a slug straight from the bottle, feeling like a total cliche, but not actually caring a damn.

Recent events, everything that was happening at the moment, it all seemed to be amplifying the gulf between himself and Raphael. That prick Roman had utterly failed their brother, and yet Raphael still seemed determined to trust the man.  The thought of losing another brother was just too much.  He would not let Cas go, no matter how plausible the arguments... Cas certainly wasn’t going ‘upstate’. He would section himself, before he’d let those incompetent fuckers near Cas.  He surprised himself with the vehemence of his feelings and judging by the brief flash of annoyance, it had caught Raph off guard too. Well... good!

He swallowed the bile that threatened to rise with the scotch in his throat. Their brief meeting this morning in Raphael’s office had not filled him with any great confidence in the supposed respected psychiatrist, indeed having now met Roman in person, Michael had added oily creep, to the list of uncomplimentary adjectives he’d already decided upon.  He had forced Raphael to promise that he would not make any decisions about Cas’ care in his absence, his own fists tightly clamped at his sides, because he didn’t trust himself not to start shouting and pointing if he didn’t keep up his mirage shield of calm.  He’d listed it off.  No change of staff, no change of drug regime and definitely no removal from the mansion unless he himself had personally and expressly agreed to it.  Despite his quiet simmering determination it still went against years of habit and conditioning. He didn’t like undermining his older brother in front of other people, but they had left him no damned choice.

He took another swig of scotch, grimaced and stared again at the report on his desk.  He stared at the figures.  It made no sense.  Based on his conversations with the foremen and the managers in Seattle, either they were all totally incompetent or spinning him a very consistent line, or this report was wrong.  It wouldn’t be the first time that the numbers men had made a mistake… he reached for his phone.

An hour later he pressed the end call on his speaker phone, his report covered in red pen and a grim look on his face.  He was not needed in Seattle.  He looked again at the author’s name on the report, and rang through to accounts.  

“...no Sir, those are not my numbers, nor my conclusion.  The Seattle deal is solid and work is progressing well.  In fact if anything, I’d say it’s performing better than expectations at this point, by… erm let me just check exactly… by 3.5%.  Revenues are growing, and the suggested adjustments by the team up there that were implemented after your last visit have yielded savings of around 2.75% while improving productivity…”

Michael sat back in his chair.

“... Sir, are you still there?  Would you like me to re-send you my report.  I can pull up the e-mail and check that there hasn’t been some mistake…”

“...no… no that’s not necessary.  I’ll come and collect a paper copy from you this afternoon.  And please don’t worry.  I suspect the mistake is up here, probably someone attached your frontispiece to the wrong report.”  It didn’t sound convincing even to himself, and he could tell by the dubious tone in his voice as he said his goodbyes that the young man in accounts didn’t really believe it either.

Michael took a deep breath.  He opened his e-mails and scanned back through them.  The e-mail from accounts had sat in his in-box. It had already been opened, but nothing new in that, Amy, his PA, routinely opened and printed his e-mails for him. She had full access to everything but his private mail account. He checked the send address and looked for anything innocuous or out of place. It looked perfectly normal, but he was very aware that he wasn’t entirely sure what he was looking for.  Amongst the e-mail listing he caught the name Adler.  His reply to his request for a private meeting, scanning over the brief message referring him to the administrator, who would ‘find him the necessary files’, but that sadly the search had been ‘fruitless’, despite ‘determined efforts’ and the use of several ‘avenues of investigation.’  

He pressed his intercom.  “Amy, have security got back to me about my request for files?”

He heard her tapping her keys, and then the slick sound of pages flicking.  “No,” she replied.  “Would you like me to chase it up?  Mr Adler has been out of the office quite a bit lately, so they may have been waiting until he was back.  You know some of the departments are a bit jumpy about hierarchy.”  The vague hint of disapproval was as near as his capable, professional PA would ever get to criticism of the firm.  

She looked up a little startled as his door swung open and he strode out of his office. “No, it’s OK, Amy. I’m going out for a stroll, I’ll call in on the fifth floor on my way out.” He smiled briefly at her.  “I’ll be back for my 2 o’clock, and Amy,” he paused and waited until she looked up, “Cancel my travel plans.  I don’t think I need to go to Seattle after all.”

In nigh on twenty years, as his efficient and diligent PA, Amy had never known Michael Angel ‘go for a stroll’, but she quickly suppressed her slight astonishment and nodded, “Yes, Michael, of course.  Do you want me to cancel your lunch, too?”

“Yes, please, Amy.  I’ll eat out,” he turned back, and smiled at her again, “Unless of course, you would like it. If that saves you a call.”  She dropped back down into her own swivel chair, ‘ _yes please, Amy’._ He was always polite, but… he didn’t look or sound quite like himself this morning.  She stood up, a thoughtful look on her face, wondering if he were all right and completely unsure how to ask him, but he was already sweeping down the corridor.  So instead, she sat back down and reached for her phone to call the plane charter company, whilst simultaneously typing the email to cancel the car.

\--- 

They pulled up, just before they were due to rejoin the interstate, so that Cas could climb from the back seat and ride shot gun.  He stared dumbly at the object shoved into his hands as he swung back from fastening his seatbelt, as if the paper bag might explode.

“I figured you might be hungry, Shortround,”  Gabe said, a little dismissively.

Cas slid the contents onto his lap.  He gave a little gasp of recognition and his fingers shook as he touched the faded grainy stickers on the bright yellow plastic.  A man in rainbow braces, grinned vacuously from under a mop of dark hair.  His arm around a slender dark haired woman.  The letters over their images, spelled out in big white bubble letters surrounded with outlining rainbow stripes. A kid’s lunchbox. His own name written in his childish block lettering in the cracked egg that replaced the o in Mork…

“Where… Why… How do you even have this?” He felt his brow crumple in puzzlement as he watched his brother’s profile, but Gabe seemed determined to concentrate on the road ahead and his mirrors, as he swung the car back onto the flat top and pulled into the slowly building traffic.

“I had it with me.  The day I… erm… left, it was in the car.  When I sold it for cash, I found that in the trunk along with a couple of other bits and pieces.  You must have left it in there at the end of term, I took it with me.”  He glanced in his rear view mirror again and indicated to change lanes.  “You, Squirt,” he confessed quietly, “were one of the few things I missed.”

For a while they were silent.  Then Cas’ stomach gave a little growl and he carefully undid the little metal clips and opened the lid. “You know you may have to re-think some of your nicknames for me,” he observed dryly, swallowing to hide the little crack in his voice.  “I over took you on the playroom height chart before I reached puberty.”

“Yeah, well…”  Gabriel said softly, so softly Cas barely heard him above the sound of the turbo as it kicked in pulling them further and faster away from their family home.  “...you’ll always be ‘Shortround’ to me.”

Cas opened the greaseproof paper, and took a long overdue bite of PB&J on white.

\--- 

Adler glanced with some irritation at the bulk slumped in the seat beside him. Uriel’s breath was getting steadily more laboured, as he seeped blood and bodily fluids into the dark upholstery.  They were miles from any of his ‘safe’ places and even his contact at Lusk was having to keep a low profile.  The Feds were crawling all over this case, the shooting of an agent would have them all running around like roosters on steroids.

He’d switched plates as soon as he found a secluded spot, but he was still effectively driving round in the FBI’s forensic evidence on four wheels and he needed to carry out some swift damage limitation.  He clicked his tongue to the back of his teeth; Uriel, he was sure, would not talk, but why the hell take the risk.  Decision made, he started to plan his next moves, and Uriel right on cue, gave a little groan.

“All right, friend, it’s all right.  Just a few more miles distance between us and the ‘scene’.  I know someone who can take care of you…”

\--- 

The administrator glanced up as someone swept past her desk.  A suited, dark haired man was trying the door. “Mr Adler is away on company business,”  she volunteered helpfully.  “Can I help you?”

The man was reaching into his pocket and a small keychain jangled in his hand. He slid a key into the lock, it entered smoothly enough, but did not turn.  His irritation was plain in his body language, but the face that turned towards her was smiling calmly and she felt her own cheeks pull as she reciprocated.

“Yes you can…” he was reading her name plate she realised,” Katarzyna.”  There was a slight upward lilt in her name as if he was questioning his pronunciation and she found herself smiling harder and nodding.  “You can call custodians and get this door unlocked for me.  And I will need someone from IT.  I need to access some files.”

She stared at him, wide-eyed, mind catching up with the fact that she was looking at one of the heads of the firm.  “Yes… Mr… erm… Angel...Certainly, sir.  Can i get you a coffee while we wait?”

\--- 

Cas stared at his phone.  He wanted more than anything to actually speak to Meg, just to reassure himself that she really was OK, but it really wasn’t worth even that minor risk until she was away from the house. He wanted to wait for her, but ‘the plan’ was for he and Gabe to fly to Vegas and for Meg to follow on later. Cas didn’t like it. Deemed this whole ‘buying him extra time’ thing as nonsense. What difference would a few hours make now?  The only argument that had got through was Gabe pointing out that the later Raphael knew, the less time he had to get to Dean, or interfere with the DA. So, reluctantly, he did as he was told.

Besides, Meg’s last message, time stamped 10:32am, was brief and simple, even though the code hand been dropped presumably so she could give him extra info.  

Coast finally clear. leaving in less than 15 mins.

He sighed.  By the time he landed in McCarran she would be in the air herself. He watched his screen flare briefly as he switched it off and the aircrew began making their final sweeps up and down the cabin before the flight taxied onto the runway.  

\--- 

Michael waited impatiently for IT to give him access to the encrypted file drives.  His insistence that Mr Adler need not be bothered as he was likely to be busy on his trip raised a few eyebrows, but no-one seemed willing to comment.  He carried on flicking through the filing cabinets, occasionally pausing to look at a folder, or read a page, before continuing.  The administrator set a fresh coffee on the desk. “Thank you, Katarzyna.” He flashed her a smile, and turned back to his search.

“Are you sure I can’t help you, sir?”  Michael jumped slightly, unaware that she hadn’t left the room. “I might be able to assist you if you know what you are looking for.  Mr Adler’s filing system is a little strange…”

He looked at her, appraising her.  “How long have you worked here?”  he asked.

“Eight months, sir.”  She picked up one of the files that had fallen to the floor and glancing at the label opened a drawer in the first cabinet and slotted it away.  

He quirked an eyebrow. “Not so very long then,” he commented unnecessarily.

“On the contrary, Mr Angel,”  she said calmly holding his gaze.  “I’m informed it’s a record.” Michael felt his mouth twitch, as she continued earnestly, “Mr Adler has a tendency not to keep his administrators for long.”

“I see.” He pushed the drawer he had open shut.

“I know I… this probably isn’t at all appropriate, or any of my business, but what you’re looking for… if it’s important, you won’t find it amongst these files.  Mr Adler doesn’t keep anything of any _importance_ in these cabinets, Mr Angel.  The important stuff, the ‘secret’ stuff is all in the cupboard.”  She nodded towards a glass fronted display cabinet. “He thinks no-one else knows about it,” her voice filled with scorn, “...it has a false back.” Michael stared at her intently as if he was looking for the answer to some unasked question.  She blushed under the scrutiny and found herself adding. “He’s an asshole… sir.”

Michael’s poker face cracked into a smile.  “Who else knows about this cupboard, Katazyrna, and please drop the honorific, call me Michael.”

“As far as I know, him, me … and now you. And I go by Kasia, it’s easier to say.”

“Well now, Kasia, you best go get another coffee cup… you and I have work to do if we’re gonna unlock this asshole’s files.”

The look of surprise on her face, was matched only by his own feelings.  He fought back the ridiculous urge to giggle, giddy with his own sudden boldness.  He fired an e-mail off on his phone to Amy to cancel his diary commitments.


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your lovely comments and support and patience while I rewrite, draft and update.
> 
> So, next installment, safety first - trigger warnings in the end notes, please read first if you have any issues.
> 
> Otherwise enjoy... :-)

If Dean had thought that his normal cell was devoid of luxuries it was nothing compared to ISO. He stood patiently as the shackles were removed and stared about him at flat grey concrete. The bunk was a solid extension of the wall with a coated rubber mattress a few inches thick and a three-foot square concrete screen barely hid the toilet from the viewing hatch in the door. He winced slightly as the slam of the door ricocheted off the four solid walls and jangled the remnants of his concussion-induced headache. No guard station to watch through the bars to alleviate the boredom, or view of the outside sky to judge the passage of time just the insides of a grey box. To boot it was a space devoid of all noise until he moved and could hear the crinkle of his own clothes, the silence actually rang in his ears.

He dropped onto the bunk, fingertips testing the texture of the blanket, which it appeared was his only bedding. He sighed and leant back against the wall, letting his head fall back onto concrete. He had nothing to do but think and wait. His statement had been taken, as had the pictures of his hands. Spengler had given him a thin smile of encouragement as they parted, but he was in here until the governor decided otherwise.

He let the air snort from his nose. What the hell had happened? Had Benny really betrayed him? And what was Bass’ part in all this? He growled in frustration, feeling powerless and angry in equal measure. When his evening meal slid through the door hatch some immeasurable amount of time later, he was busy doing press-ups just to get rid of some of the pent up aggression.

\---

“Cassie!”

He barely had time to register the sound of the voice as he turned the corner onto the airport concourse before he was enveloped into a smothering hug. He squirmed briefly before simply giving in. “My God, I have never been so pleased to see you.” He was allowed a brief second of freedom, as he was bodily thrown backwards to arm's length, his face scanned, before being dragged back into another tight grip. “You look pale. And stressed. I told Meg to look after you… she always was a slacker.”

“At least,” he mumbled into the shoulder of the most impossibly, disgustingly garish floral shirt he had ever seen, “she didn’t try to suffocate me in a crime against fashion.” Gabriel smirked, as his ‘little’ brother finally managed to wriggle free of his friend’s grasp. “I’ve been so worried about you,” Bal said, utterly unabashed, seizing Cas’ face in both hands and planting a kiss straight onto his mouth. “Don’t you ever do this to me again.”

“Bal,” Cas whined, pushing him back, “It’s not exactly like I had much choice…”

“You should have come to me or called me. I would have come to fetch you straight away…”

Gabriel finally decided to interrupt, aware that they were drawing attention from the random strangers stood on the concourse. “Let’s get somewhere a little more private before we start the inquisition. It’s been a long day. Cas and I need…”

“What Cas needs,” Cas began a little irritably, “is to get a statement made to get to the DA to get Dean released and I’m not gonna do that stood here. Now can we please just go. You can give me the third degree later. When is Meg due to land?” He was already striding in the direction of the exits and missed the look that passed between his oldest friend and his brother.

\---

Finally, all the shifts were in place, rejigging them to cover the isolation block in a prison this size was always a pain. Crowley’s careful micromanagement and seemingly magical ability to read people meant that it was rare for any prisoner to be assigned there, so it wasn’t routinely staffed. An hour or so of carefully working through the rotations and patterns and the Supervisor had managed to work it without too much stress or the need to cancel his own long overdue week of leave. He was glad. If he had gone home tonight and even so much as suggested cancelling the trip to the coast his wife would have made the inmates here look like Mary Poppins. Not being able to use either Bass or Alastair in ISO itself had added a certain piquancy to the challenge, but orders were orders and it was done.

His radio crackled, the code called out was a potential altercation and they were one down with Bass sidelined on his paperwork. He flicked through the monitoring cameras and spotted the issue stra1ight away. Dammit! The Governor would chew him a new one if he sent Alastair into a delicate situation like this and it blew up. Not for the first time he wished they’d just fire the jerk.

With a reluctant sigh, and a backwards glance at Alastair, who stood in a guard style stance some five feet away, he hit CAD to lock his screen and headed across the gantry towards the rec room.

Looking quickly about him, Alastair slid into the vacant seat, bypassing the fake screen lock. He kept one eye on the CCTV monitors, typing rapidly. By the time the supervisor returned he had uninstalled his spy program and removed the USB stick from the back of the CPU, locking the computer down for real.

\--- 

“What do you mean you don’t know?” Cas growled, keeping his voice down, as Gabe was talking on the phone, presumably to Kali. They both gripped at the side rails, as the SUV slewed slightly onto the freeway. Bal’s eccentric driving style was no better suited to Vegas traffic than it was to Manhattan. “How can no-one have heard from her? She sent me a message at just gone 10 saying she was about to leave… Have you tried ringing her cell?” He tried again to turn on the phone that Meg had given to him that morning, but he did not have the passcode. He had had to turn it off on the aircraft and now he was locked out of it. “Fuck!” He swore violently, “What’s the code, Bal?”

“Slumming it with Kansas the Elder has definitely coarsened your language, Cassie.” Bal quipped and earned himself a glare, before he swung the SUV erratically across two lanes and down the off-ramp, causing a blare of horns and squeal of brakes behind them.

“Tell me the goddamned code!”

“I don’t know it,” Bal said calmly. “Relax Cassie, she’s probably already in the air. As soon as we get back to the hotel, we’ll plug the phone into the computer and run the decryption on it.”

Gabriel flicked his phone shut and turned in the passenger seat, and gave Cas a reassuring smile. “There’s quite a welcome committee waiting for you, Squirt. Kali has booked us in with the DA first thing after lunch tomorrow. Tonight, we’re gonna meet and eat and work out our strategy.”

Reluctantly Cas, slumped back against the upholstery, his face set in a worried scowl.

\--- 

Kasia’s fingers drummed gently on the desktop, as she and Michael waited for the young man from IT to give them access to Adler’s e-mails and files. She was enjoying herself, despite the disappointment of discovering a biometric scanner behind the false door of the cabinet. It was of solid construction and would take more than a little while to break into without Adler's thumbprint.

Finally, the young man pushed himself back and relinquished his seat, with a look of geekish satisfaction. “That’s it, sir. Every file and folder is available to you and I’ve given you access to Mr Adler’s e-mail. I’ve also taken the liberty of recovering as much of his deleted correspondence as possible. Is there anything else I can do for you?” Michael shook his head and thanked him, taking his place, while Kasia ushered the youngster from the office. She poured them both fresh coffee and waited patiently for Michael’s next instruction. His face flickered as he opened documents, reading some on screen whilst hitting print on others. She wandered back and forth building up piles of papers on employees.

They both jumped slightly as the computer gave a little whooshing thump like an arrow hitting its target. Adler had mail. Michael’s brow furrowed as he read the body of the email and Kasia could not help but edge closer to read it over his shoulder. The sender’s name was not familiar, but confirmed receipt of payment for the dossier on Megan Masters, emailed a week previously.

With a sharp intake of breath, Michael clicked on the sender’s name to pull up previous receipts. It drew a blank. He sighed angrily and his shoulders tensed.

“Look in the archive of recovered correspondence,” Kasia said softly.

“Where?” Michael snapped slightly, not for the first time frustrated at his own lack of IT skills. He leant back relinquishing control of the keyboard.

Kasia hit AltTab and clicked on the shortcut the young techy had helpfully created on the desktop. She typed the sender’s name into the search bar, but it drew up too many results. She sorted them by date, but nothing showed for the previous week.

“I need to read that file,” Michael said, a hint of desperation in his voice. “I need to know what it says.”

Kasia opened document search on the whole computer and this time she tried adding *masters* to the boolean string. The search seemed endless seconds dragging, but finally, a couple of file roots appeared - she clicked on the first only to find the file route empty. The second opened a pdf only as far as a password screen.

Michael gave a growl of impatience and started to reach for the phone. Kasia quickly flicked back into the e-mail screen so that the detective agency's telephone number appeared.

\--- 

Crowley stared at the phone on his desk. It was ten minutes since he had hung up on the DA’s office. The knock at the door broke into his thoughts and Missy’s familiar bubble of curls bobbed gently round the edge of the warm oak.

“Winchester’s statement,” she informed him. Putting a plastic wallet down on his desk, which was already covered with the contents of the file on the assault charges. “The boy lawyer wanted to speak to you, but I told him you were unavailable.” Crowley gave her a small nod of thanks. “If you’re finished with the file, I can scan it all and e-mail it to the DA.”

“I’m not… “ He paused and Missy stared at him in surprise. Crowley did not look his usual unperturbed self. “They’re sending in some hot shot Psych, a specialist, to carry out an ‘assessment’ on Winchester. He’s flying in tomorrow afternoon,” he murmured. “I don’t like this Missy. I don’t like this one bit.”

Missy gave him a knowing look and wordlessly reached into the cupboard to fetch out the Lapsang Souchong. It was as near to scotch as tea could possibly get. Crowley looked at the mess of paperwork on his desk and slid the contents of the pocket that Missy had just given him onto the top of it all. He scanned through the new statement and then searched through the others, re-reading them while looking deeply thoughtful.

Missy had barely had time to regain her seat after putting the canister of tea away when Crowley’s door opened and he strode from his office. “Sorry Missy, can you clear those file papers for me. File it all in pending and if anyone asks I’m still investigating. I’ll be back in an hour.”

He was gone before she could reply. Rolling her eyes with affectionate indulgence, she stood up and went to tidy his desk, stopping in her stride when she noticed the untouched tea tray. He must be worried.

\--- 

Michael had not got past the first three lines of the report on screen before he made the connection. The college and graduation date for Meg’s first degree was all he needed to read. He grabbed the phone and dialled his brother’s office.

“Mr Angel has gone home for the day, sir. He called for a car and left shortly after your morning meeting.”

Kasia was coming back through the door with a printout of the report, as he stood up from the desk. “Please,” he said, “call down to transportation and get me a car. I need to get home. I think my brother is in danger.”

\--- 

The prison laundry was hot, as always. The smell of body odour mingling unpleasantly with the distinctive scent of industrial grade detergent hanging in the humid atmosphere. Machines droned and hummed; Crowley had to raise his voice to be heard.

“Start at the beginning Benny...and don’t even think about lying to me.”

\--- 

Dick Roman stared at Raphael. “So, she told you she was just a nurse, eh?” He flexed his arms a little tighter where they pinned Meg’s elbows behind her, as she struggled to free herself from his grip. She felt woozy and a little bit sick, but she still managed to stamp back angrily and he grunted as her heels hit his shins. It was Raphael who smacked her neatly with the back of his hand, the implosion of pain in her cheek did nothing to quiet the fight in her though. She raised her leg and caught him tight in the thigh with the toes of her thick soled combats.

He side-stepped with a groan of pain and seized her chin, pinching hard with his fingers and twisting until her face met his. “ENOUGH!” he shouted. He should have known better. Meg didn’t care that spitting in his face was the obvious move, hell, it was her only move and she was long past bothered about resorting to cliche. She had never been good at backing down. Never.

He released her face and stepped back calmly pulling his kerchief from his top pocket to wipe his cheek. Roman smiled, Raphael Angel’s control of his own emotions was utterly terrifying, even if you were fortunate enough not to be on the receiving end. The entire Angel family was practically its own psychiatric study. “Really, ‘Nurse’ Masters.” Raphael’s voice had regained its urbane tone. “Tsk. Tsk. Using your own name, my dear? How long did you think it would take for us to discover your association with my little brother? A classic rookie mistake, and I’m afraid to say. It will cost you. You and Castiel.”

Meg struggled even harder. Feeling the iron grip crunching her wrist bones together. “You leave him alone, you bastards.” Good luck, opening to door without the key!

“She really does have a lot of spirit,” Roman said softly, a thoughtful look crossing his face as he gazed at Raphael.

Raphael raised an eyebrow, and his face twisted into a nasty smile. “Really, Dick? Living up to your name as usual?”

“His reputation proceeds him,” Meg growled, spitting blood from her bleeding lip into the deep pile of the carpet. Trace evidence, she thought harshly, try cleaning that enough to hide it from the luminol, fuckwit. “Word has it, his name is the only dick he has worth mentioning.” She cried out slightly as he twisted her wrist viciously as the barb struck home.

Raphael however, was laughing heartily. She felt Roman bristling with indignation. Maybe… just maybe… if she could turn them against each other enough… she could buy some extra time. It was all that mattered now. The longer she could keep them from discovering that Cas was gone the more time he would have to get to the DA. She squirmed as Roman shifted his grip, pinning both her hands in one tight cluster of fingers, his other arm drifting to her throat. He began to squeeze and she choked, chest heaving desperately as her body instinctively strove to fill her burning lungs with air. She squirmed and realised with horror she could feel him getting aroused. Her vision began to granulate and tears formed in her eyes. Raphael was striding across the room towards the door.

“Just for heaven’s sake, clean up the mess when you’re done,” he snapped as he pulled the door shut.

Roman released his grip just as her eyes began to roll back into her head. She coughed and fought for breath as he spun her round, releasing his grip on her arms as he simultaneously kicked her legs out from under her. She fell heavily onto the sofa and he pressed himself down on top of her. He tore at her tunic and she felt the snappers pulling open, friction scorching the pattern of the trim into her trapezoid. Despite the desperate urge to fight him off, she let herself go limp as he closed his fingers around her throat again. He would find it far less fun that way, and maybe she could preserve enough energy to leave a few marks of her own. He relinquished his grip to let her come back round, intent on making her last and with feral strength born of desperation, she twisted her hands free, clawing at his face with her nails, while she used the heel of her hand to strike at him hard, catching him squarely in his namesake, more by luck than judgement.

She felt the skin of his cheek rip open and his blood dripped onto her face, but it was the palm strike that did the most damage. He rolled off her onto the floor convulsed into an L shape both hands clutching at his groin. She dragged herself upright, still struggling to get control of her breathing, but it didn’t stop her, stamping her foot hard onto his ankle, enjoying the crunch as his foot twisted at an awkward angle.

In panic she noticed the door was re-opening and she drew in a little sob, wincing at the pain in her ravaged and bruised throat. She shook her head, realising that her disorientation was from more than the partial choking. She must have been drugged and adrenaline was only partially counteracting whatever they had used. She grabbed at the fireside poker and brandished it warily in front of her, poised on the balls of her feet, ready to go down fighting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Non-con in the form of a violent sexual assault and the threat of rape.


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [lizerd70](http://archiveofourown.org/users/lizerd70/pseuds/lizerd70) gets the credit for The Nauti Hotel reference in this chapter... I couldn't resist using it...
> 
> As ever any triggers/warnings are in the notes at the end, so if you have any potential triggers look there. And if I've missed something tell me and I'll add it. 
> 
> Oh and apologies for the terrible, terrible hotel name pun...it's a family joke about a holiday villa in the Costa Del Sol.
> 
> Thank you all for the patience, comments and the visits on tumblr. mwah mwah mwah.

Adler panted with the effort of lifting Uriel’s arm to remove his watch and the chunky gold bracelet he wore. He was grateful he did not have to shift the man mountain from the vehicle and also very glad that they had pulled a sack down over his head, so that he didn’t have to see the slack mouth with it’s empty gumline and ill fitting fake dentures. It was bad enough when he inadvertently slid the dead man’s fingertips against his hand. The thin layer of latex glove not preventing him from feeling the texture of the raw flesh where they had burned off his fingerprints. It was an exceedingly unpleasant sensation.

The fake agency sedan had been stripped and the interior incinerated, the chassis and shell currently a compacted box of metal on its way to be melted down into whatever. God bless recycling. This vehicle was clean. If discovered, the plates and engine number would lead to a false name and address in Milwaukee. All he had to do was wait for fall of darkness, drop off the parking brake and let the whole thing roll into the lake, where the water would slowly destroy any remaining forensics. Its ‘driver’ a slowly disintegrating hulk behind the wheel. His body tissues steeped in alcohol and drugs. Good luck to the lab rat unpicking this pile of red herrings and false trails.

He glanced at his watch and then at the skyline. The light was fading fast. His own getaway vehicle was parked less than half a mile away, on the solid of the flat top where it would leave no inconvenient tyre impressions. He clipped the fake shoe pads onto his feet, so that should they, through some extreme mischance find this dump site before rain and time had obscured the evidence left in the muddy ground, they would be looking for a man with considerably larger feet than his own.

Adler was nothing if not thorough and in all honesty, he was feeling rather pleased with his own cleverness despite the setbacks he had experienced. Neither Carter nor Uriel could be traced back to him or the firm.

He would drive away from here tonight, put a good couple of hundred miles distance in, find a decent hotel, eat a good meal, a steak or veal, hm veal would be good, maybe hire some company, and get a damned good night’s sleep. He had earned it.

He slipped his phone out of his pocket. There was no reception here, but he’d downloaded Two Dots only a few days before and he was already on level 62. He settled back in the seat and began the arduous task of connecting the little squares to clear the screen. He was so engrossed he barely even noticed the post mortem flatulence of his former colleague, his only reaction a slight twitch of his nostrils and a moue of disgust at the smell.

\--- 

Blood torrented through her ears, louder even than the rasp of the air dragging into her lungs. It felt to Meg as if her body were in a battle of its own. She wobbled slightly and shook her head, keeping the slumped figure of a groaning Dr Dick Roman in her peripheral vision, she focussed her attention on the opening door.

\--- 

Benny hefted another large quantity of bed linen from the open door of a dryer. He enjoyed the moist heat of the laundry room. It was strangely comforting, like a heat filled Summer night back home.  Even the poor lighting added to the effect, casting deep shadow in the soft, spongy atmosphere of the dull room. He saw movement in the corner of his eye and realised the guard by the door was leaving. Dismissed by a subtle flick of the Governor’s elegant hand. “Mr Crowley, sir?” Benny drawled, feigning innocence.

Crowley was in no mood to be toyed with. Benny could see his anger, thinly concealed. His whole body bristled with it. “I said ‘start talking’ and I meant it,” Crowley glowered at him. His voice still just audible, even as a machine to the right began a spin cycle.

Play it dumb. Maintain the facade. “How’s Winchester? Has he come round?” The concern was genuine. He had not enjoyed seeing the youngster writhing under the contact from the taser. The way his head had hit the ground had not been intentional. A little bit of Bass’ inexperience shining through. Neither of them had wished to give Dean a concussion. They just needed him out of Benny’s cell and the relative safety of ISO had seemed the best idea.

Crowley pursed his lips. “He is out of the infirmary, but I think you already know that. I think you know quite a few things, don’t you Benny.”

He continued to separate sheets, folding them effortlessly and neatly. Regimented, practiced movements of his large hands producing a pile of clean bedding, almost magically. His fingers tingled as the residual static from the dryer charged his skin.  He kept his head tilted, so that his eyes stayed in the shadow. “I’m glad. Didn’t like to think the kid was hurt.”

“Really,” Crowley said dryly, “After he punched you black and blue… over a library book.”

Benny shrugged, his huge shoulders flexing under the coarse orange cotton of his jump suit. “Tempers flare when you’re trapped in close proximity. Things lose proportion.” He could feel the intensity of Crowley’s gaze even without looking up. “Kid’s lonely and scared, despite hiding it well.” He continued folding sheets, still Crowley did not speak. Benny continued to lavish the harsh cotton with his undivided attention.

Neither man was prepared to lose this mexican standoff.  Crowley was clearly at the disadvantage without the cover of laundry work to do. After sixty seconds of eternally stretching silence he gave a sigh.

“I’m no fool, Benny,” he said, softly. “We’re alone in here. No-one else can hear us, so you can talk freely… which agency do you work for and what… or should I say who are you after?  I’m assuming you weren’t transferred here from any other jail, but five years is still a long time to be undercover in a maximum security prison, unless you are here for me… and I don’t doubt there are some who would like to see me fail… there’s no reason why I can’t know what’s going on in my own domain.”

Benny heaved a deep sigh, letting the breath leave his body as he thought the process through. “I’m not any kind of agent, Mr Crowley.” He glanced up and gave a rueful smile at the sceptical look on Crowley’s face. “I killed a man 15 years ago, I punched him until his brain bled and he died. I genuinely deserve to be here. He did something terrible, but he didn’t deserve to die for it. He was just some dumb aggressive drunk who hit my wife and I shoulda walked away. But I didn’t and now I’m here. And for the last 14 years I’ve done everything I can to make sure no-one makes the same dumbass mistake I made.”

Crowley still did not look convinced. His self belief in his own ability to read people was too strong.

“But there is something going on here. Someone rotten to their core, stirring it up and doing damage. I ain’t got no proof. I have been snooping and I’m sorry but I’ve spent the last few years using every scrap of trust you placed in me to do that snooping.” He flicked an apologetic look in Crowley’s direction. “I needed proof to come to you with it and I’m close, so close. I think they were coming for me a couple of nights ago, because they know I’ve been snooping. I was worried they might hurt Winchester, so I set him up and I feel like a shit doing it to the kid, but he was in danger. There’s no way he woulda let them at me, dumb kid is too loyal for his own good. I need to be able to let them come at me, it’s the only way I can be sure who… it would be the final proof I need… to bring to you. I’ve been pushing hard, to force them into the open so we…” Crowley’s eyes narrowed just a fraction at the slip and Benny schooled himself not to grimace,  hoping that Crowley would just assume he meant the two of them, “... have the evidence.”

He stared at Crowley, holding his gaze, willing him to believe him.  He scrubbed a hand through the scruff of his beard. Crowley was completely still, only his eyes moved, as he scanned Benny’s face.

Crowley’s voice was a murmur. “We.” His body language had tensed increasingly throughout the Benny’s confession. His clockwork existence was being spannered and he didn’t like it one bit. His voice started as a hiss, but it crescendoed to a shout as his temper got the better of him. “We. So who else is the ‘we’ Benny. Not that I need you to tell me. I can guess who’s been helping you and given half the chance I will fire his scrawny little arse and replace him with someone who isn’t here under false pretences.  Goddammit, what half assed bollocks is this.  How will getting you killed prove anything?”

Benny stood straight. “I ain’t aiming on being killed.”

“Really and how exactly were you planning on fighting them off when the ‘come for you’, care to explain?”

Benny shrugged.

“Do you have any idea of the kind of paperwork involved in a murder in the cells? Do you know how much I loathe paperwork Benny?  I’ll tell you Benny, I really, really don’t like paperwork.”

He turned sharply and walked away, swinging the door wide open, letting it crash to the side. His shout bringing two guards scuttling at the double. “Move this idiot to ISO, just as soon as he’s finished the damned laundry.”

\--- 

“Where is he you little bitch?”  Raphael took in the sight of Roman rolling on the carpet, clutching at his ankle, but he barely paused.  

Meg watched him warily. “Who?” she croaked, with a sweet smile of defiance.  The poker still raised, half club, half sword, in front of her.

“You know perfectly well who I mean, Ms Masters.  Get up Roman. I need you to search her.”

“I don’t think Dr Dick can get anything up, right now.” She enjoyed the venomous look that crossed Raphael’s face. Well, faces. Her vision blurred. She concentrated on staying upright, fighting the urge to let her eyes close.

Raphael looked at the psychiatrist with a distaste bordering on disgust.  For once, Meg agreed with him wholeheartedly. She wobbled slightly on her feet and brushed her fingers through her hair pushing her loosened bangs back from her face. Her skin tingled, the sensations muted and she shook her head again. It was too much, her vision swam again and then she was falling. She did not feel the soft pile of the carpeted floor meet her, nor the hands swiftly and efficiently searching her pockets as she lay in a heap on the floor.

\--- 

“Really Gabe? Casa Nova? You called your casino Casa Nova?” Cas stared at his brother with his eyebrows raised.

“What? It’s a play on words. The biggest lover of all time and it was my _new_ home. Besides you know, me casa nova es tu casa,” Gabe waggled his eyebrows  and for the first time in over a decade Gabe heard the infectious little chuckle that his baby brother gave when he was really amused.

“That would be Casa Nuevo, you idiot, nova means no go!” His chuckling subsided, but Cas continued to smile, letting his head loll back against the headrest. “You’re telling me no-one has ever pointed out to you that you called your hotel the no go house?”

“Maybe he just didn’t listen to them Cassie,” Bal grinned at Gabe in the rear view mirror, before turning his attention back to the road. He indicated and pulled off the lower strip into an elegantly curved driveway. Cas caught a quick glimpse of the impressive entrance canopy, partially obscured by an epically phallic chunk of modern art in its own little park of clipped privet on a traffic island.  An efficient looking valet, in a sharply cut uniform saw the approaching SUV and scuttled across to the service road quickly raising the barrier to the side of the parking lot entrance.  Cas stared up at the expanse of glass towering over them as they disappeared into the darkness of the underground garage.

The moment of levity passed and his anxiety returned.  All he wanted now was to have Meg’s soft hand in one grip and the gentle rough juxtaposition that was Dean’s in the other.  Then he would hold them both so tight, that they could never, ever be in danger again.

\---

Being in a cell with no access to outside light gave Dean no awareness of how time was passing. He pushed his body until his muscles twinged with tiredness, ate his meal and shoved the empty tray back by the door, figuring he would just have to count his time in meal trays, as the bastards had even removed his watch.

He lay on his back on the thin softness of the bench, using his own arms as a pillow and draping the blanket over his body. He closed his eyes and tried to empty his mind, but the knowledge that neither he, nor, more importantly as far as Dean was concerned, Cas, was any nearer to freedom was weighing heavily on him. He just wanted Cas safe. No, more than that, selfishly, he wanted to keep Cas safe himself. He wanted to be the one who made him safe.

He pushed the image of Cas lay in the dirt in his arms away, forcing himself to think instead of the Nauti Motel, as they had christened it. The sound of his laughter, the way his face seemed to glow as the gummy grin spread with each new ridiculously kitsch and bizarre discovery, his beautiful, huge blue eyes sparkling and brilliant in the light from the impossibly bright chandelier.  That first, wonderful, soft, clumsy kiss, when they returned from the bar. Finally, together, in one bed, admitting they wanted each other.  The thrill of knowing that Cas felt at least as much as he did.

As much as he did. The words echoed through his mind. What did he feel? He missed Cas, of course he did. They had been together 24/7 for 47 days. 6 weeks 5 days 13 hours his brain supplied automatically. Sap.  

All that time before Marcy’s when they shared a bed and he kept telling himself how wrong it would be to take advantage of Cas while he was vulnerable and frightened. All that time at Marcy’s when he could have left his own narrow bunk in Marcy’s spare room and joined Cas in his on the opposite wall.  “Together or not, it’s all the same to me.” That’s what Marcy had said as she patted his arm goodbye. He smiled in spite of himself. She had seen straight through his crap.  She knew. And in that one little sentence she had told him so.

It was a damned good job her attacker was already dead, or Dean would deserve a life sentence, because he would take the guy apart with his bare hands. He shrugged the thought away. Spengler said she was recovering. He had to trust she would be OK, trust them all to look after her. And there it was… he had to trust other people to do stuff, because he was a useless idiot who couldn’t even keep Cas safe long enough to get him to Vegas. _He_ had let them get side shunted by that creep. _He_ had let that creep drag Cas from Baby. Let him be taken, left him defenceless at the hands of Raphael.  Failed him, just like he’d failed Sam with Walker. Been so weak and useless that his 14 year old brother had had to save him.

They were all better off without him. And pissed off with him for doing it or not, that was it, wasn’t it. There wasn’t a single person on this planet who wouldn’t be better off without him. He should just confess to the fight and the kidnap charges, plead guilty at the hearing. If he took the rap, if Raphael Angel thought he could just hang all the death and destruction on him instead.  If he could get a message to Angel, offer him this way out… maybe Raphael would leave Cas alone. That way Cas could just leave the Angel mansion, he could stay with Gabriel, he would be safe. It's not like he had a bright future to worry about, just another forty or fifty years of drifting around the country until either his luck or his liver ran out.

And Sam had Jess and his son. He didn’t need a loser disappointment to worry about. Sam could always visit if he really wanted to. At least he’d always know where his older brother was. He wouldn’t like it, but he would get over it. Better this than bringing more crap his way.

He could make a statement tomorrow, end all of this. Benny would get his parole and be back with Andrea by the end of the month...

 _What about Cas?_ A little inner voice somewhere whispered bravely in dissent. He felt a chill. _Cas would hate it._

_Cas could do so much better. He’s bright and brave and funny and clever and compassionate and gentle and wise and so much more than I will ever be, could ever deserve to have.  I don’t deserve to even be on his radar._

His face swam into his mind, blue eyes soft with affection. Lips parted, poised ready to kiss him again. _That wouldn’t last. One day he will see me for the loser I really am._

 _Jesus, loser is right,_  the little voice was soft in its appraisal,  self _pity central._

_Yeah, well maybe, I need a reality check. What do I have to offer a man like Cas? He’s a college graduate, he’s sexy and gorgeous and can have anyone he wants. He’ll soon get bored with someone like me anyway._

He had barely noticed the swell of tears forming and wiped them away angrily when he realised he was crying. Snivelling in his bunk like the stupid, whining, self-pitying little coward he was.

Somewhere outside his cell he heard the clunk of the heavy duty deadlocks on a door and the vague sounds of movement muffled but unmistakeable. He used his sleeve to clear his face and sniffed the stinging snot back into his nose, swallowing it with distaste. If he was going to stay here, to survive in here, he had to start to project his best tough guy image.

There was a click and the light red glow that denoted the overhead lights shining on his eyelids faded suddenly to blackness.

Tomorrow, he would ask to speak to Crowley. Tomorrow, he would find a way of making his offer to Raphael Angel. Until then. He might as well sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Meg has been drugged and previously assaulted, so there is a hint of bad things happening to her.
> 
> Dean's self esteem issues are resulting in a lot of negative self talk/low mood/depression.


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As ever please point out any inconsistencies, typos, grammar slips or whoopsies... I hope you enjoy and thanks for all the encouragement so far...

The car was barely stationary as Cas swung open the door and jumped down. He waited impatiently for Bal to press the tailgate release and grabbed the backpack, his backpack from the trunk. Neither his brother nor his friend commented, but he was almost vibrating with urgency.

The elevator ride to the upper levels seemed agonisingly slow to Cas and he fiddled with the zipper toggle on the backpack, his normally calm and stoic demeanour shot to hell.

It was Bal who broke the silence which was building in intensity like an approaching storm. “Gimme the phone, Cas. I’ll go unlock it, while you grab a shower and get ready to meet everyone for dinner.”

“I’d rather…”

“Cassie,” Bal said softly taking a gentle grip of his elbow. “Shower! I’ll work quicker without you hovering over my shoulder.”

Gabe gave his little brother a wink. “He’s right, Cas. There’s no point fighting it. We’re all meeting for dinner in half an hour, you may as well use that half an hour productively.”

“Besides that,” Bal muttered. “After a few weeks of bed baths… you hum.” He chuckled softly at Cas’ indignant glare.

\---

Cas was a little blase about opulence and luxury. Growing up the son of a billionaire had a tendency to make you indifferent to even the most sumptuous surroundings. But as Gabe pushed open the door to his suite, even he gave a little gasp.

Gabe chuckled behind him. “Not bad, huh?”

“It’s certainly not quite what I’ve been used to on the road,” Cas mumbled. He dropped his backpack onto one of three overstuffed cream sofas and stepped up a few short steps from the sunken floor of the sitting area towards the expanse of glass that provided a panoramic view of the strip.

“We’re right upstairs if you want anything. Bal is on the next floor down, along with Marcy, and the Winchesters. You got 25 minutes Cas and then we’ll all get together for dinner. I’m gonna go check the arrangements.” Cas nodded, but he was barely listening. In fact, it was only after a few moments of silence and the soft clunk of the door lock closing that he even realised that Gabe had left him.

He watched a plane dipping into McCarran in the distance and took a steadying breath.  Pushing his hands flat against the glass, cool and smooth to the touch, he let his forehead and nose roll across,  smoothing his cheek and watching the world turn green as the light passed obliquely through the glass into his eyes.

“Dude, you’re gonna leave smudges.” Dean’s voice is high and laughing, behind him in Marcy’s little store. “What the fuck are you doing _anyway?_ _You look like a cat on the mailman’s leg!”_

He’d blushed so hard at that. Cas closed his eyes and let the memory overtake him.

_He turns his head briefly at an angle so that he can just see Dean, the handsome face quirked into an amused grin, as he rounds the counter. Flicking a towel over one shoulder as he pauses a few feet away arms folded, the hint of engine oil and grease scenting the air. Cas lets his head roll back against the glass, enjoying the soothing cool against his skin._

_“It’s…I’ve done it for years... when I was a kid…,” his throat feels tight and he clears it, letting his fingertips press lightly into the glass, “The first time… I ever… I find it comforting, all right.” He can’t look at Dean, he’s never explained this to anyone before. It’s always seemed so stupid, dumb little Cassie and his ‘ways’, but somehow he thinks maybe Dean will understand._

_“All I wanted was to spend some time with Dad, not some half bored intern, however kind he tried to be.  Dad had promised me a trip into town, only for some reason as per usual we ended up in his offices and he was getting bogged down with sorting something out. His secretary took pity on me, arranged for one of the interns to take me to the park for a while. It was such a hot day. I remember feeling the sweat on my skin, the instant we went outside. The sidewalk was burning, I could feel the heat scorching the soles of my feet even through my shoes. I don’t know how long we were out, but on the way back I talked the intern into letting me buy ice-creams. For the secretary, for Dad.  I thought maybe if I took him an ice cream, cos it was so hot…maybe Dad would stop for ice-cream... Anyway... we went back to the offices. I remember standing in the elevator. The ice-cream was starting to melt over my fingers.”_

_He can see Dean’s reflection in the greenness of the glass, the whole world is outside on the other side, but all he can see is the green plane stretching away and soft green reverse Dean watching him intently as he talks._

_“So, I ran in, but Raphael was there… talking to the secretary...some crisis or other. I just wanted Dad to have an ice-cream, cos it was so hot and ice cream makes it better when you’re hot. Ice-cream fixes everything when you’re four years old. So I’m standing there in the lobby to his office, just outside the dark oak of his door, ice-cream dripping off my hands onto the deep pile carpet. Dad didn’t even come out.  Raphael just vaguely flaps his hand in my direction and then he snaps at the secretary, ‘find someone to get him out of here and clean up that mess.’_

_I tried to tell him, “It’s ice-cream for Daddy.” The look he gave me, so filled with… distaste. “Father is busy, Castiel, he doesn’t have time for your childish nonsense. Stop wasting his time with your whining.” And that was it, no day out, no time for me like Dad had promised. Just a vague flap of my brothers’ hand. That was all I merited. Stupid, whining little Cassie.”_

_Cas swallows, the dismissal is the painful part of the memory. “I dropped the ice-creams, just dropped them, and I ran. I could hear someone coming after me, but I just kept running. I ended up in some corridor with decorators sheets everywhere… it smelt of paint and dust cos the carpets were up. I just kept going until I couldn’t go any further. I’d literally run into a corner, where two window walls met, overlooking a little grassy area and some fountains in the plaza.”_

_“I’d got a little burnt, no sun block or hat you see,” Dean’s face is a blur in his peripheral vision, because he has let his eyes focus on his fingertips resting on the glass, he doesn’t want to switch the focus, doesn’t want to see whatever look is on Dean’s face. He swallows round the weird little lump in his throat, not sure whether this is too much to let out, too much weirdness to admit aloud. It’d always seemed so … secret.  “My face was already burning, and my head felt sore… thumping… like I could hear my own heart, but in that moment I felt like I was on fire, like I was going to turn to ash where I stood. I was four years old, just a tiny little kid, and I wished it would happen…I wished I didn’t exist.” The glass stays solid under his fingertips, light refracting onto his skin in clear white rings, surrounded by pure cool green. “But it didn’t happen, of course, I was still there. So I pressed my face into that glass and it was so cool, so soothing and the water spraying in the air, the sky, the scattered people, everything was this beautiful soft green version of itself, like a different echo of the world. I stayed there, hiding with my face pressed into the glass, watching that other place, until I felt like I had melted into it.”_

_“They found me eventually, of course, but it had taken some time. I don’t remember much about it when they did. Some kind of heat stroke I guess, I woke up in my own bed at home. I’d been ill for a few days and no-one ever mentioned my little flip out, even when they caught me… later on...it was just one of Cassie’s ‘things’.” He feels his own rueful little smile and sighs, letting his eyes fall shut. “Whenever I felt sad, or the world was just too much, I pressed my face into the glass of a window, until I got the angle just right so that the green came back. And it didn’t matter whether it was the things on the other side of the glass, or the reflections of things in the room, they all became part of that soft green echo world and just maybe in that world I wasn’t just a whiny little nuisance getting in everyone’s way, somewhere where maybe I was want...”_

_His whole body from his knees up; the points of his hips, his stomach, his chest, even his nose and his forehead bumps against the glass as he jumps. The sharp sting of the towel whipping against his butt cheek making him lurch forward. The sensation smarting but not unpleasant. He turns and real-world Dean is winking at him mischievously._

_"Freak,” he drawls and throws the window cloth into the air between them. Still slightly shocked, Cas catches it deftly as it floats towards him. Their eyes meet and they stare at each other until they are both grinning._

And that was when he had realised none of it mattered, Dean didn’t give a damn about his quirks or his past or his fucked up family. He knew just when to give sympathy and just when to tease him out of his self-indulgence. Dean had come to know him, understand him and liked him anyway. 

He peeled his face away from the the glass in his Vegas hotel room, suddenly feeling an overwhelming longing to be with Dean again. Needing him safe, and _here._ He missed him so much. He pulled back away from the glass watching his own reflection recede and disappear, replaced with the bright blue skies and bright lights of the Vegas skyline. The ghostly outline left by his face and hand prints on the glass.

_“I told you you’d leave a shit load of smudges!” The echo of the drawling voice finished the memory. “Now get those fucking windows cleaned quick. Marcy sent me to fetch you for dinner.”_

\--- 

Gabe resisted the urge to laugh at Sam Winchester.  He stood, glancing occasionally at a discarded food trolley from under his bangs, looking for all the world like a giant naughty toddler, who wanted nothing more than to disappear into the floor.  “Might be best kiddo to just stop talking,” Gabe advised softly. “I don’t think Mrs Kunsberger or your wife is particularly happy with the idea that they eat in your suite this evening.”

“I just thought they might prefer to rest, it’s been a long day for everyone and…”

“Yeah, this would be the part where the stopping talking would work really well,” Gabe smirked, as he watched Marcy Kunsberger’s already thin lips tighten further. She was waiting quietly for Jess, who was just finishing settling JD into the care of one Gabe’s highly trusted staff. A capable woman in her 60’s with children and grandchildren aplenty. Four of her equally capable and trustworthy offspring also worked in the casino and household staff in various roles. Gabriel had a talent for inspiring genuine loyalty. It helped that he chose well in the first place.

He leant forward and pressed the button to call the elevator to take them all down to the lower floor. “If you want to survive the ride down to the dining room, I humbly suggest you give up. They’re both coming to dinner tonight and tryna explain your best intentions ain’t helping your case any.”

Sam sighed and tried one last time to at least appeal to his wife who was finally making her way out of the suite. “I’m sorry, honey, I was just trying to be considerate…”

Jess folded her arms in a way that let him know in no uncertain terms that Gabe’s assessment was entirely accurate and she wasn’t in the mood for his explanations.  “Don’t honey me, Sam Winchester. We discuss things and make joint decisions. You don’t make assumptions and order room service without asking me. That’s not being considerate, Sam, that’s being an ass.”

“Why don’t you go and wait with Bal for Cas,” Gabe suggested to Sam softly. “I’ll escort these two beautiful ladies to din…”

“You can cut the smarm, too, young man,” Marcy’s voice was clipped and sharp. “Sam is staying right here, where we can both keep an eye on him. Make sure he doesn’t have any other stupid ideas about what’s best for other people.”

Gabe winced, but his soft eyes showed hints of amusement.  He and Sam exchanged a look, but neither said another word even when the elevator car broke the icy silence with a warm melodic ding.

\--- 

The journey from the offices to home felt endless. In practice, with one of the many experienced and careful chauffeurs at the wheel and a little less traffic than usual, it was under 40 minutes. But in those 2400 seconds, Michael had all the time in the world to torture himself.

The combinations of guilt, fear, anger and downright betrayal swirled as wildly as his thoughts. Guilt that he had not believed Cas, fear that some harm had come to him, anger at everything that had happened.  Correction, anger at himself for everything he had _allowed_ to happen. He thought of his father making him promise that he would take care of Cas. That he would keep Raph in check.  Goddamnit the old man had more or less warned him not to trust his older brother and he had arrogantly thought he knew better. Assumed the old man’s brain had been affected by the stroke instead of listening.

And betrayal. Oddly, it wasn’t Raphael’s betrayal that hurt the most. It was Meg. The thought of her brought another twist of pain. How easily he had let himself be deceived. Sure he had been suspicious to start with, she seemed so secretive, but he had let himself believe she was just aloof, overwhelmed by the ‘family’ aura perhaps, but he had really begun to let himself think maybe she had feelings for him. Clever of her and Raph to pretend to hate each other. Not openly or obviously just subtly hinting at it so that he had utterly believed it.

Self-hatred boiled in his gut. Trusting, docile, plodding Michael. Able ally, poised in his brilliant older brothers dark shadow, always soothing the ruffled feathers and easing the way. Pop to Seattle Michael, work your magic, Michael. Michael, the family patsy!

So clever of Raph, knowing that Michael would not trust Dr. Roman, once he found out about Luci, to then go and find someone who had known Cas at college, someone who would know all about the family and would know just enough about Cas to play Michael. Someone he would never suspect of being part of the conspiracy if he should finally wake up and smell it. Raphael gently discouraging him from inviting her to dinner, subtly pushing him to do the exact opposite. God, was he really so easy to manipulate.

He thought of her, her dark hair, the hint of wicked humour, those occasional flashes of warmth under the professional surface. She was so beautiful. The driver flicked an anxious glance in the rear view and Michael realised he had let the internal wail of pain, escape as a small moan into the quiet interior of the car.  Perhaps assuming the sudden departure from the offices to be the result of some ailment the driver said, “Only another five minutes, sir. We’re almost at the gates.”

Michael gave what he hoped was an assertive nod of thanks and mentally shook himself. He straightened in the back of the car, tugging at cuffs and making sure his tie was neat. He had to give nothing away, with luck he could catch them unawares and once he had assessed the situation he could get Cas out of there, before anyone of them was any the wiser.  Besides this driver, only Amy and Kasia knew he was heading home and not to the airport.  A few people knew he had gone into Adler’s office, but the chances that it had got back to Raphael had to be slim, right?

Why the hell hadn’t he listened to Cas? He had been right all along and yet he had let Raph convince him that Cas was… His guilt at failing his little brother was immense.  He had promised his father so faithfully that he would look after him, and now... Was there anyone he could trust?  He certainly couldn’t trust his own judgement that much was clear.  He had _trusted_ Meg, listened to her about Cas’ treatment and all the while she had been a part of this. Keeping his brother sedated and helpless… so that first Adler and now Dick Roman could do heaven knew what to him...

Feeling sick with the turmoil of emotions and adrenaline Michael asked the driver to use the side access road and drop him behind the outbuildings. He let himself in through a side door, jumping slightly as the alarm beeped at him. He stared at the panel, but it wasn’t actually armed, just noting the break of contacts in the doorway.

It felt wrong, instantly. The house was quiet, way too quiet. It had been such a hive of activity for the last few weeks, with the agency nurses and extra security and extra housekeeping staff.  Even the past couple of days with only Meg and the chef as extras, there had been people around every day.

His plan to come in acting as though he had forgotten something he needed for his trip began to seem stupid. “Is anyone home?” he called.  The only response was the echo of his own voice along the downstairs hallway and then total silence bar the ticking of clocks and background noises of the building. What was he expecting? A surprise party with hats and streamers after the mother of all wind-ups! He made his way along the narrow passageway past olive coloured walls, adorned with family pictures. The ghosts of happy childhoods mocking him in glorious Kodak technicolour.

The immense kitchen was deserted, Raph had mentioned letting the chef have the week off while Michael was in Seattle. Was it only yesterday he had had that conversation? An empty coffee mug and a dish in the sink the only hint of habitation. Otherwise, it was spotless. Even, the normally endless churning of the coffee maker was absent, lending further to the sense of abandonment. He walked quietly on into the main hallway and made his way up the stairs. His anxiety growing steadily, the bannister under his hand felt reassuringly solid, familiar. He turned the corner towards the back of the house where Cas’ room had always been and froze, before surging forward in an awkward lurching run.  He was not sure what he had expected to find when he got here, but beyond the shattered remnants that had been the sturdy bedroom door,  Cas’ room was trashed. Every drawer upended, his belongings strewn everywhere. Apart from the utter devastation, it was unoccupied.

Michael stared at the empty bed, shuddering mentally at the sight of the restraints hanging at the corner. What the hell had they done with Cas? Heart racing he instinctively headed along the upper corridors towards the back stairs that lead to the garages. It lead him past the guest bedrooms and the door to the room where Meg has been staying was ajar. The room was not quite in the same bomb site league as Cas’, but it was clear it had been searched. A suitcase had been upended and it’s liner torn apart. Suspicion rapidly gave way to realisation and for the second time in less than 12 hours Michael felt his whole worldview slant. If she was a trusted acolyte and part of the conspiracy why would they have searched her room? He scanned the bare mattress, the bedding had all been stripped away and dropped in a heap on the floor, taking two hesitant steps into the room, he let himself sink onto the edge of it, thinking hard.

\--- 

Cas sighed and wandered back through the suite in search of the bathroom. He didn’t actually need to sniff his armpits to believe Bal’s assessment, he had been in a nervous sweat for something close to 15 hours and no amount of deodorant could disguise that. He loosened various neck buttons and peeled all three upper layers off in one awkward shuffle of shoulders and arms, pausing shirtless in the doorway of his quest.

The world was clearly conspiring against him. Why else would he be looking at a cleverly deco themed modern bathroom? A perfect reminder of a distant motel bathroom, all those initially awkward, but ultimately pleasant intimate moments with Dean as he helped him shave and wash and brush his teeth as they first got to know each other. He clenched his hands and his fingertips touched the few remaining ridges of scar tissue. He closed his eyes briefly, casting aspersions at various deities and slumped onto a beautifully shaped Nouveau toilet to remove his socks and pants. He pressed the shower’s auto start button artfully disguised as a scallop shell relief in the tiles, flicking one hand to test that he agreed when it flashed that it was up to temperature. He yanked off his shorts, balling them up and throwing them down onto the pile of discarded clothes before stepping into the cascade.

The hissing sound with the drumming pelt of the droplets drew a small moan of satisfaction. He dipped his head and the water ran through his scalp and poured from his chin, hitting his chest and running in rivulets over his skin. For a few precious moments he didn’t move, just let the heat work it’s magic on the tension in his neck and shoulders. It was soothing, but still not enough and as he ran his fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck under the heated flow, the tug as the longer lengths snagged between his fingers was a particular type of enjoyable.

He let his fingers wander, playing with his own senses, easing the tension and the longing into arousal, imagining it was Dean’s touch and not his own sending little shock-waves of pleasure down his spine to pool in his gut. He let his hands slide lower and lower, tweaking at his own nipples, teasing himself, letting the feeling build until he could hardly stand it. Only once he was panting did he grope for the shower gel, using its slick coconut scent as lubricant to ease the glide of his fist, allowing his other hand to wander, pinching and massaging and tapping wherever felt good.

It only took four or five deft, swift movements and he began pumping into his own hand out of control, his hips jerked erratically and a white wave of heat and pleasure flowed from his core leaving him weak-kneed and gasping with the echo of his own voice calling out Dean’s name mockingly in the steam of the tiled bathroom.

\--- 

Bal was sipping a particularly sweet cognac through his teeth when the laptop finally gave a smug little ping to let him know it had paired with the phone he had given to Meg weeks earlier.  He still wasn’t entirely sure why she had given it to Cas. She was supposed to keep it, but in his long friendship with Ms Masters, he had never once known her do what was expected or indeed follow instructions if she thought she had a better idea. He pressed the space bar and moved the pointer to the menu tab, scrolling down delicately he clicked unencrypt and let the computer program work it’s magic. The progress bar crept up infuriatingly slowly so he had plenty of time to enjoy Charlie Bradbury’s personal comedic touch as the strains of the song she chose to accompany the work in progress rang around the room.  Try as he might he could not work out how she had overridden his computer’s audio controls so that he could not turn down the volume or remove the sound. He idly twirled the amber liquor round his glass while he waited.

He rolled his eyes as a familiar rhythm rapped loudly at his door. He padded softly in his stockinged feet and smiled at his dark-haired friend, hair still wet from the shower, wet enough that it was soaking and darkening the collar of his t-shirt. “Patience is a virtue, Castiel,” he smirked, adding as he was firmly pushed aside so that Cas could walk in, “not one you currently possess, granted. You know I really am going to have to have words with your new boy toy when we finally meet, although if he’s half the man his baby brother is I can hardly blame…”

“Bal, I swear to God, one more crack about Dean and I will…” Cas pressed his lips together at a bit of a loss as his brain caught up. “Are you listening to Celine Dion?”

“Oh, what? No…well, not on purpose... that’s Charlie’s idea of a joke, everything she does for me, she sets My Heart Will Go On as the background music.  Bitch knows how much I hate that goddamned movie… What? Why are you looking at me as though I did it on purpose? Oh, God, don’t tell me you and action man have a song already!”

Cas could feel the blush hitting his cheeks, images of the nauti hotel flitting through his mind. One thing was absolutely certain, he was never, ever explaining to Bal the significance of Titanic, he would forever be plagued with references and nautically themed gifts.

“No. Of course, not. I just know you hate it. It surprised me, that’s all. Has it finished yet?”

As if by magic, the laptop repeated another self-satisfied little ping. “She may be a pain, but she’s a very talented pain,” Bal murmured as the two hovered close together to scroll through and read the phone’s contents.

\--- 

If Meg was not part of this, she had been here to save Cas, it was the only remaining explanation. Michael opened his phone and began scanning the e-mails again. The date of the detective’s report stared back at him in black and white. And not for the first time that day Michael decided he was an idiot. Meg has already been here for at least a week before this more intrusive and intensive background check had been ordered. The relief that he had been wrong and that the slight sense of distrust he had felt towards her had been accurate, but founded on a deception to protect Cas filled him with hope. Perhaps she had managed to get away with Cas. It would certainly explain the angry destruction of the searches.

He stood up slowly and made his way back downstairs. Who could he ring? The agent, Henrikson, he hadn’t trusted Raphael. The family lawyer had his contact details, but was Valentine involved in all this? Did he know what Raph was up to, or was he another innocent patsy? He’d been with the family a long time… oh God, that meant nothing. Better to try and get hold of someone who knew where Cas was heading. Resourceful and clever as she no doubt was, Meg couldn’t have done this alone. Laduz! It had to be, he was Cas’ oldest friend. Maybe Cas was even there, holed up in his club.

After a quick internet search and a brief conversation with an administrator at The Venue, Michael learned that Mr Laduz was out of town. No his personal number was not available without his express permission, but noting the urgency with which Mr Angel wished to speak to him, a message would be sent to Mr Laduz informing him to call back to the number given as soon as possible. Frustrated, Michael rammed his phone back into his pocket. Should he ring Raphael? Make up some pretext for the call? Could he hold his nerve if he did? He smoothed his shaking hands over the expensive material of his suit pants. He needed a drink.

He was halfway down the stairs when he heard the clock in his father’s study begin chiming the hour. It didn’t normally carry through the house, which must mean the door was open. Unusual, as only the family had access, they kept it locked out of habit. Silly really, but it was a hang up from when Chuck was alive.

A prickle of tension sent a ripple of goosebumps over his skin, was it possible Raph was still here? He moved cautiously, conscious of his own heartbeat and every little sound he made as he moved through the house.  He crept closer and closer, turning the corner with slow deliberate care. The door was indeed stood wide open, but the study was empty. It looked exactly as it always had. He pulled the door shut with a distinct sense of anti-climax and locked the door.

Now he moved more freely once again, determined to go to the key safe by the door to the garages to retrieve whatever vehicle was nearest the front, intent on getting back into town, to his office, to call on the assistance of the very few people he believed he _could_ trust. He was going to find Cas and Meg and no-one, even his arsehole older brother was going to stop him, until he knew the exact extent of what was going on. Intent that was, until his eye caught a flash of colour in the otherwise pastel expanse of the sitting room as he passed it.  Blood red had never been in the design palette of that particular room and looked vulgar and out of place, even before his brain made a pattern of the blotches and stains on the cream carpet showing him that at least one person had lain bleeding on this floor if not two.


	22. Chapter 22

Michael felt his cell phone ringing in his pocket.  He wriggled slightly in the driver’s seat of the Lexus he had happened to find fueled up and ready in the garage. He made a mental note to give the valet company a damn good tip next time he paid up. It was clean, fueled and in tiptop condition, the meaty engine purring and the internal climate controls set at a perfect 72 degrees, making the journey back to the office comfortable if not relaxed.

He flicked a glance at the display in the centre console, the call was from the office, his own line. “Michael Angel,” he was impressed with how calm his own voice sounded, considering the state of his nerves.

“Mr Angel,” Amy sounded a little strained and for a moment he wondered whether Raphael was standing over her shoulder threatening her in some way, “I have a young lady here Mr Angel. I’m sorry she insisted that I call you. She says it’s urgent that she speak to you immediately. Excuse the use of your private line in the office, but she was determined that we must not go via the switchboard.”

There was a scrunching sound as the receiver was obviously passed across and Michael found himself smiling slightly as the ‘young lady’ identified herself. “It’s Kasia,” she babbled, not waiting for him to respond, a mixture of pride and excitement evident in her voice. “I’ve opened it. I suddenly remembered Antman and I thought it was worth a try, so I found one of the repairmen and got him to bring me some glue and a blow torch…”

“Antman?” Michael echoed. What the hell was she talking about?

“Yes, Antman, with the heated glue and the keychain,” Kasia continued as if this made everything self evident. “The hardest part was finding a print, but then I remembered how precious he is about his private bathroom and…”

“Kasia,” Michael said softly.

“...of course, that was it, I pulled a print of the tile behind the toilet pan.  He must be a tiny man, Michael, you know, because he has to lean on the wall to make sure he is over the pan when he p…”

He heard a curious strangulated groan in the background and realised it had come from Amy. He must be on speakerphone. “Kasia!” Michael repeated more sharply. “What are you talking about?”

He could almost hear the roll of her eyes, as she stuttered to a stop, and took a breath before saying with determination. “I’ve opened it. The cupboard safe. I made a copy of Mr Adler’s fingerprint and I have the contents of his safe.”

\--- 

“See,” Bal said smiling, “Meg is fine. A few more hours and she’ll be arriving crabby and irritable from the airport.”

Cas read the messages again.

**Coast finally clear. leaving in less than 15 mins.**

**ticket confirmation rec’d tell Bal thanks for 1st class**

**just checked in flights on time**

**taxiing keep safe Cassie see you in 6 or 7 hours**

“You sent her tickets?” Cas said slowly. Something fluttered in his mind. Unsettled, a sense of wrongness.

“Gabe did it at JFK while you were pacing up and down the departure lounge. Said he wanted to make sure she was comfortable en-route. He got them to send the e-mail ticket to Meg’s account. We knew she’d pick it up once we realised she was using her own phone to text you. Now come on, we’re gonna be late for dinner.” Bal dropped a hand on Cas' thigh and squeezed it. “That’s if you escape from under the mountain of hugs you're about to get long enough to actually eat.”

Cas disconnected the phone as he stood up and slipped it into his pocket. It was his only link to Meg and he didn’t want to be parted from it. He followed Bal out of the room, trying hard to push down his sense of unease, bile rising in his throat. He was so worried, about so many things, he was beginning to feel detached from the world.

\--- 

The elevator doors slid open and ahead of them stood a double door, a neat brass plaque naming the room beyond as the Magnolia Room. The carpet underfoot was deep and soft, the paper on the walls heavily textured, huge deep pots held plants which, although Cas knew they could not be real, kept under artificial lights as they were, still looked green and lush. Ficus, Cas’ brain supplied idly. The generic pot plant of choice for hotels and businesses everywhere. The overall effect was typical Vegas opulence; a movie set on acid, Disneyland for adults, a living, breathing theme park of epic proportions. He wandered behind Bal. He was getting lost in his own mind, slipping into his childhood habit of letting the world slide out of focus. A state of automation that had carried him through numerous events when he was small and lonely and overwhelmed.

\--- 

As Bal pushed open the door ahead of him he heard the initial hum of voices, the buzz of several conversations. His world narrowed into his own senses, his eyes tracking the hideous floral pattern of Bal’s shirt, noting the swirled blocks of colour. The room was bright, floor to ceiling glass along one wall, the predictable view of the strip, sky dark above the garish lights, he could see the tip of the balloon rising outside the Paris Hotel and make out the outline of the Eiffel tower, names and themes clashing against one another, stretching away into the distance, heading South towards the distant glow of what must be the lower strip, beyond the rattling heights of the Stratosphere.

A huge table, wood, rich and gleaming, the patina of polish between the brilliant white of crockery, sparkling silver cutlery and glittering glassware. It hurt his eyes it all shone so brightly. His eyes drifted upwards, to a dazzling display. Crystal upon crystal each throwing rainbow upon rainbow, blurring together into a clamouring cacophony of colour. His vision fused and blurred and his ears raged, burning and buzzing, the world going black, circles of light bursting through the dark and he was falling.

\--- 

Someone was holding him up, gently gripping his sides just under his arms and settling him onto a chair. He could feel a solid wall of human warmth against his shoulder blades and air wafted over his face. The horrible, prickling sting in his ears lessened. He heard snatches of conversation.

"I told him to eat on the plane, but he said he was too nauseous. You know I don't do vomit," Gabe was trying to justify himself.

A woman’s voice overlayed his, unfamiliar, but clear and authoritative, “You should still have made sure he ate something, Gabe. For heaven’s sake. If all he’s eaten all day is a couple of your manky sandwiches you can’t wonder he's fainted. When did he last even have a drink of water?”

“My sandwiches are not manky!” He smiled weakly at Gabe’s indignant retort. "I know he's my little brother but he is a full grown adult you know!"

“He’s coming round…” a hand was gently holding his own, the crisp, soft old skin stroking the back of it with firm reassurance. He opened his eyes, blinking at the brilliance of the light in the room.  Although a huge presence loomed over him offering a good deal of shadow. He stared up into the very concerned, upside down face of Sam Winchester.  Stood beside him, Jess was fanning him gently with a menu card. He started to push himself upright into the chair, muttering apologies, feeling utterly foolish. Gabe was right, he was an adult. He was 24 years old for heaven’s sake. There was too much at stake for wasting time like this.

“Sorry,” he murmured, “S’not Gabe’s fault. Didn’t realise how low my blood sugar was…” He glanced up as they all began gently pulling back away from him, only Sam and Marcy remained. One laying a huge hand comforting hand so that it was firmly planted between his shoulder blades. The other holding out a glass of water.

He drank it gratefully, letting Marcy lift the glass to his lip initially, before taking it in his own hand. He wiped a shaky forearm over his face.

\--- 

Sam felt the subtle shift as Cas recovered. Once he was absolutely sure he was OK, he stepped away and moved across the room, returning to his own seat at the table. It was pure chance that he had been stood by the door as Bal and Cas came in, collecting a menu for Jess from the side table, still under penance for his earlier faux pas with room service.

He had seen Cas start to wobble and reacted without thinking, catching him easily, as Marcy moving with surprising speed and agility for a lady of her age jumped to her feet and pulled the chair next to her round, so that he could lower Cas onto it.  

The colour was returning to his pallid face, but his embarrassment was clear as he dropped his gaze to the glass in his hand and shuffled awkwardly in his seat. Sam smiled as his Marcy gently took the water goblet and set it on the table, easing back into her own seat. Patting Cas on the cheek and lifting his gaze to hers with a twitching little squint. "It's good to see you again, sweet boy." 

Cas rallied and seemed to snap out of whatever thoughts he was having, looking up and Sam was struck by just how blue his eyes were. The camera on Dean's crappy old laptop had not done them justice. “It’s good to meet you in the flesh finally, Sam. Quite literally it seems. Thank you… thank you all… I’m so sorry I…”

“For goodness sake, stop apologising Cas,” Marcy snapped, beside him. “None of this is your fault.” She gave Gabe another accusatory look. “A damned good feed is what this boy needs and then we can get down to business. Let’s get some bread on this table and get the food ordered.” She gave his hand another reassuring little squeeze and winked at him. “All this fussing about ain’t getting the bird plucked, is it now.”

 By the time the main course arrived the bare-bones of  the next day were decided upon. Kali would spend the morning drafting a statement with Cas and they would present it to the DA in the afternoon’s meeting. The legal team were confident that with Cas refusing to support the prosecution’s case, effectively corroborating Dean’s story the only action the DA could take would be to drop the charges. Dean should be eligible for instant release. The only complication was the business with the fight during recreation time.

“I think Crowley knows that Dean didn’t lay a finger on his cellmate,” Spengler said. “There’s no way, with the pictures showing his hands and face completely unmarked that they can make a case, even with the witness statements. The physical evidence just doesn’t fit. It muddies the waters, but it’s not enough to stop what we’re trying to do, I don’t think. I tried to speak to Mr Crowley again, but his administrator just kept saying he was too busy.”

“Have the papers on this alleged assault been sent to the DA?” Kali asked, taking a sip of wine.

“Nuhuh,” Spengler shook his head. “They’d have to copy me in. If we’re lucky, you will have the release papers signed off, before Crowley acts, even if he does decide to and I don’t think he will.”

“Do you think this Benny is working for Raphael?” Sam asked.

“Dean likes him,” Spengler said simply. “He seems to think he’s an OK guy. In fact, he seemed hurt and confused by what had happened. Benny Lafitte is due for a parole hearing in a few weeks, Dean was more worried about that, than he was about his own situation, if I’m honest. I don’t get it, but he trusts the man, was even ready to take the rap so he could still get out.”

“Sounds like Dean, all right.” Sam shook his head. “Dumbass never did know when to keep his nose out.”

“Dumbass is right.” Gabe snapped. “We’re all busting a gut to get him out and he’s throwing it away because he ‘likes’ some bloke he barely knows. ” He sensed Sam and Cas both stiffen. Jess had gripped Sam’s hand gently. “Sorry,” he murmured.

“S’OK,” Sam said, “It’s not like he doesn’t have a track record for pulling this kind of shit.”

Cas was staring at his hands. The still pink and red ridges of the rope burns clear on his palms. Was he just another one of Dean’s dumbass mistakes? Was Benny?…  were they just the same story repeated? He was so sure what they had was more than that, that he meant more than that. Was Dean just inclined to imprint on whoever was available? He had told Cas himself that he'd started to idolise Walker at first, before he'd discovered what kind of a man he was. The thought was too painful. He closed it down.

“Don’t worry,” Spengler said softly, “I stopped that in its tracks, anyway. With the photos as proof that there’s no way Dean was involved I think the whole damn thing will just get filed away and ignored. Crowley’s no fool and I think he kinda likes Benny too. He has him running library carts and looking after the newbies like a surrogate mother."

"My big brother is always ready to jump in and help people if he thinks they deserve it," Sam said, "but he wouldn't do anything right now... not with so much at stake... he cares too much about... well let's be straight, he'd risk his own neck in a heartbeat for someone he thinks is a friend, but he'd never do anything that might put Cas at risk."

"Well, he's safely tucked up in solitary, so he won't have the opportunity to...”

“He’s in solitary!” Cas snapped out of his self-pitying thoughts, voice loud, even to his own ears and full of alarm. “Adler told me that was their plan all along, they were going to get him into isolation and then make it look like a suicide. He said they would bribe a guard and get to Dean and make it look like he couldn’t take it… You have to call the prison…warn them…”

“Cassie,” Gabe said softly, “when did Adler tell you this?”

The memory flooded back, the hand in his hair, the hissing hot breath on his ear. “He came in my room, when he thought I was still doped to the eyeballs, told me how they were going make me paranoid, make me so afraid, twist everything in my head. Use the drugs to make me believe that Dean had hurt me, so that I'd testify against him at the hearing...then they'd bribe the guards, how easy it would be to kill him." Cas shuddered, eyes glassy with the memory. "I couldn't do or say anything...just had to let him touch me."

“The hearing is still weeks away, Cas, and they don't have you anymore.” Bal interjected reasonably. “Adler was just doing what he said, trying to make you afraid. Meg has said all along he's a sadistic prick.”

"He didn't know I could properly understand, Bal. He thought I could just hear menace and spite, feel fear. Not specifics. You didn't hear him, he was... boasting."

“Cas is right and just because they can't carry out the first part, doesn’t mean they can’t use the second part of their plan,” Sam added. “They've already tried to take out every witness, everyone who has anything to do with this. But even if Benny is working for Raphael, if Adler was involved with this fight, there’s no way an inmate could get to him in solitary without help."

“There was a guard who said he witnessed the fight,” Spengler said. “Bass. He gave a statement. Aaron Bass. He’s a newbie. He was the one who fired the tazer. Oh shit, he's only just transferred in.”

 “How new?” Sam asked. “Newer than Dean? New enough to have been sent in there to…”

 “I don’t know,” Spengler said miserably. ”But I gave all the details I have to the team at the office. They were starting to look into the background stuff today.”

 Kali looked at her watch. “Right,” she said, “this requires some urgency. We need to find out what we know about this Bass, and quickly. I’m going to make some calls. Try not to worry Sam, Cas, if Dean really is in danger I’ll wake everyone from the DA to the State representative until I know he’s safe. I’ll call my team find out what we have so far.”

Gabe watched her, with a look of pride. “Spengler. With me,” she called over her shoulder as she swept out of the room. The young lawyer jumped to his feet and followed in her wake.

\--- 

Cas and Gabe were arguing. Cas wanted to go with them to meet Meg off her flight, but Gabe was adamant it was too dangerous. “We can’t be sure she hasn’t been followed, Cas. We’re clueless about just how much Raphael knows. We don’t even know for sure where he or Adler are. I’ll take a security detail with me and we will go and pick her up. I promise, as soon as she’s in the SUV, we’ll ring you. Stay and protect Sam. He’s still not out of the woods with Marcy and Jess.”

Cas rolled his eyes in exasperation, knowing that Gabe was probably right, but not liking it. “I think he’s big enough to look after himself.”

“I don’t know. That Marcy. She’s pretty fierce.”

Cas glanced over his shoulder to where Marcy was sitting, talking quietly with Jess and Sam. The back of her hand still bore the bruises from a drip and she looked tired. He felt his resolve ebbing. Gabe wasn’t just probably right, he was absolutely right. He would be selfishly putting others at risk, if he chose to go with them.  Anna was already dead, but someone had tried to kill Marcy and Sam had told him about the young FBI agent caught in the crossfire as they tried to take out Sheriff Mills. It wasn’t fair to put anyone else at risk, just because he was feeling so anxious. He nodded. “That she is,” he said fondly.

Gabe gave him a gentle pat on the shoulder and turned to leave. “I’ll make sure your nursemaid is OK and get her back here as quick as I can. If you’re gonna keep swooning every five minutes we're gonna need her.”

“Gabriel?” Cas said softly, and his diminutive older brother turned back, eyebrows raised. “You’re a dick.”

Gabe just grinned and waggled his eyebrows.

\--- 

Bal made his excuses. Now that he was sure that Cassie was occupied, he wanted to check in with the staff at his club. He knew he didn’t really need to: his staff were more than capable. His main role these days was to schmooze and flatter egos.  He looked across at his friend. He was sat with Sam, Jess and Marcy. All of them so busy looking after each other, they weren’t aware how much care was being taken of them in return. Without awareness of the irony, Bal thought, Cas finally had the family he deserved.

“I’m going upstairs,” he called across. Cas looked up, questioningly. Bal jiggled his cell phone. “Gonna check in, make sure everybody tells me how much they miss me, so I don’t have to sack them when I go home.”

Cas gave him a weak smile, worry etched deep on his handsome features, anxiously checking the mobile phone for the umpteenth time, before he returned to his conversation.

\---

The airport was busy, but this was Las Vegas, premium destination. McCarran handled 500 flights a day and nearly 4 million people a month. It defined busy. The flight from JFK was due into Terminal 1, so they headed up Paradise Road, into the short stay passenger pick up. Gabe sent his security officer in with the board. He'd left an envelope with the boarding cards at the collection desk. The name Angel Miner was scribbled in block capitals on the collection board, all Meg had to do was walk up and make herself known. As the time ticked by, he tapped his fingers nervously on the dashboard, beginning to wonder whether he shouldn’t have gone in himself. Unphased by the nervous tension building in the vehicle, the driver pulled a bag of pop lollies out of the side pocket and offered one to Gabe. He took it, grateful for the intervention and covered his need to fidget with the candy.

The driver smiled smugly and eased the air conditioning up a notch, it was a muggy night for May.  They were probably in for some rainfall at some point.

\--- 

It was Sam’s phone that rang first he answered it. “Oh hi...No...Cas has been looking at the phone about every two minutes, Gabe! He’d have noticed trust me… OK, we’ll send word down to the lobby for them to keep their eyes open… you think she just missed the pick-up sign?”

“I knew I should have gone to the airport,” Cas snapped. “I’m so stupid, I shouldn’t have let Gabe talk me out of it.”

“Cas,” Jess said gently, “She’s probably just hopped in a cab when she couldn’t find the driver. There’s no need to panic.”

“Something’s wrong. I know it.” He jumped as the phone beeped in his hand. Shakily he read the text message. “She’s sent me a motel address,” he looked at Sam, brow wrinkled in confusion. Why the hell was she booking into a motel? She knew Gabe owned the Casanova.

 **You didn't use your driver** , he sent. The reply pinged back almost immediately.

**Didn't see driver. Must have missed him in the crowd. Where are you?**

It was too much, Cas finally felt himself breaking. He knew. Meg knew exactly where he was. There was no way this message was from Meg, but nor were the earlier ones. He scrolled back up and there it was. The obvious glaring error. The thing that had made him feel so uneasy, the little nagging thing his subconscious had noticed.  **Keep safe Cassie.** Meg never called him Cassie. It was a childhood nickname. Aside from Bal, only his family called him Cassie. And now he knew for certain: Raphael had Meg's phone.


	23. Chapter 23

They were still all staring at the phone in Cas’ hand when Bal barrelled into the room behind them, his face drawn up in horror. “Cassie, oh my God, Cassie.” He stared at the phone in Cas’ hand and lurched forward making to snatch at it, “For God’s sake, don’t answer any texts it’s not Meg!”

He thrust his own cell forward and Cas lifted it to his ear automatically. “Cas?”

“Michael? Is that you? Why are you calling? Where is she Michael?”

Michael made a strangled noise, “I was hoping you and she were together,” he began softly, “but there’s so much blood Cas. The lounge carpet, so much blood. I thought he had you both, thought maybe he’d killed you both. I’m so sorry Cassie, I should have believed you. I’ve been such a fool and now Meg is gone.“ The grief caught in Michael’s throat. Cas started to shake and he almost dropped the phone. Sam took it off him and hit speaker.

Michael’s voice was tinny through the tiny speaker, but at least they could all hear. “You were right Cas, Adler had a secret safe. He had Anna’s bag. It must be from the mugging, all her things they’re here, her ID. It’s all bagged up with forensic tags. There’s other things, we don’t know what most of them are, personal belongings all bagged up and labelled in some kind of code, there’s a hard drive, too, it’s encrypted but it’s labelled ‘insurance’.”

“We need to get that hard-drive to Charlie,” Bal said. “She’ll crack it if anyone can.”

Cas nodded. “Ring her,” he told Bal.

“Michael, we have a friend she’s a genius for tech, we’ll get her to look at the hard drive. But, among Anna’s things Is there a memory stick? A small silver one, it might be on her key chain.”

Another voice young and female, someone Cas did not recognise burst out of the speakers. “Yes, but we already tried it, it’s encrypted too.”

“Moonl!ght1ng, the password is Moonl!higth1ng, with an exclamation mark for the first i and a number 1 for the second. Have you got that or do you need me to text it?”

His only answer was a distant laptop ping. Whoever she was, she was fast

Bal’s voice was a frustrated undertone at the other side of the room; Charlie had either been asleep or busy. Cas vaguely heard words like. Sorry. Important. Then in typical Bal style. “Charlie… babyyyyy… you know I would never disturb the Queen unless it was mega important!”

“Cassie.” It was Michael’s voice again. “Cas! Oh my God. On her stick. I don’t know how she got hold of half this stuff. There’s documents, statements, voice recordings. So much evidence. She has stuff on Luci…Open that one. The most recent file… no… that one.” There was the subtle ping as something was opened on the computer and then the unmistakable sounds of a phone line ringing and connecting.

“Can you guys hear this?”

“Yeah.” It was Sam who responded, eyes flicking over Cas, who appeared transfixed. Jess gently took his hand and he flinched slightly, then gripped back.

They listened horror increasing as the lengths to which Raphael Angel would go became clear. “...I can’t afford to have him escape and actually talk to them Adler. He knows what I did. Michael is easy enough to placate, but he might just convince Castiel that he isn’t crazy, she was his mother after all and Father was already watching me like a hawk. He’ll know instantly, he still has connections. The medical team are talking in terms of _when_ not _if,_ now. If you hadn’t botched the first attempt...”

Adler’s nasal tones answered him, “I take it then, you want me to proceed as planned, with his removal.”

“Yes, Adler. You take care of Lucifer.” There was a pause, as Raphael did something his end. The sounds distorted as if Raphael had his hand over the receiver, a strange muffled groan echoed through the speakers. What they heard next shocked them all, even Cas, who had borne the knowledge or at least the suspicion of it for months. “I didn’t realise you were awake. How very careless of me to talk here.” Raphael’s voice was completely cold, devoid of emotion or warmth. They almost missed what he said next under the sound of each other’s reactions; Michael gave a sob, his unknown female companion saying piteously, “Oh, Michael.” Jess gasped, Marcy muttering “Bastard” under her breath. Bal groaning. Only Sam and Cas remained silent. That cold dispassionate tone was not new to Cas, he had heard it before, ordering his own disappearance as he fought for his life on the floor of the family kitchen. Just as he suspected Meg had fought for hers in the sumptuous surroundings of the family lounge.

But the horror was continuing. Raphael’s voice was clearer now, louder, still as flat, still as cold, still as menacing. “Oh, don’t worry Father. I’m going to take care of you myself. No miraculous recovery for you this time.”

The audio continued. Cas could hear Michael sobbing, he himself was too stunned to speak. He looked from face to horrified face. For Michael, it must be one hell of a shock. It still rocked Cas, even though he had long now known from bitter personal experience suspected the evil Raph was capable of. To hear his older brother callously telling his father he was going to kill him. To let him die knowing that they were going to kill his favourite son. None of the Angel brothers could deny that golden haired Luci had been a favourite, the child who looked so like Chuck’s first wife. That was just unnecessarily cruel.

Adler had kept recordings of himself talking to all his associates as he activated various people in the cold blooded murder of Lucifer Angel. The final call to Dick Roman was short and to the point.

“Just get it done.”

With a final sigh from Adler and the squeak of a chair runner the audio finished.  

Cas stood slowly and walked towards the expanse of glass. He touched the glass with his fingertips, and then fell forwards, shoulders dipped, one arm braced along the window, the other raised in the air, only his elbow pressed into the unremitting surface, his head dropped between his arms. The phone continued to emit a pitiful sonic background to the otherwise silent tableau in the Magnolia Room of the Casanova Hotel; Michael’s broken sobs and the soft attempts at comfort by some woman Cas didn’t even know.

\---

Dean woke, instantly aware. He was still in almost total darkness. Only the slight red glow of the night lighting they used to give the surveillance cameras something to record giving outline to the shape of the room. Something had woken him, he lay completely still, so that not even his own movement could muffle any sound, no matter how faint. He hadn’t been dreaming he was sure, he always remembered dreams when he woke from them suddenly.  

He strained his ears, hearing only the hiss of silence. It was so quiet he was almost sure he could hear himself blinking, he could certainly hear the click in his ears as he swallowed. Then he heard it, an almost imperceptible tapping sound. It seemed to irregular and deliberate to be a building noise. Maybe he was no longer alone on the isolation wing, maybe some other inmate was here. The tapping stopped. He waited. Then thoughtfully, he moved one hand, using his knuckles to rap against the wall. He didn’t know morse code, but he used tappity-tap. Repeating it twice, he stopped and waited.

A few seconds of silence passed and then someone, parroted his own rhythm back to him. He let his hand fall back and relaxed. Someone else _was_ on the unit. Either that or one of the guards was messing with him. Not that it mattered. The tapping resumed, but Dean ignored it. If it was morse code he was clueless, beyond SOS he didn’t know any, with a sigh he closed his eyes and fell immediately asleep.

\---

It was well past 2am, they had moved to Gabe and Kali’s beautiful penthouse lounge when Gabe returned from the airport. Bursting into the room in the midst of the aftermath of the phonecall.

Michael was currently somewhere en-route, his first job to deliver Kasia and the hard-drive to Charlie. Bal lending him a driver and car from amongst his staff. None of them sure if there was anyone they dared trust on the Angel staff.

The last message from the encrypted phone was a motel address and the suggestion that Cas come down there in the morning. He had replied to neither.

Just after 11, it beeped again. **Night. See you tomorrow**

Jess and Marcy had finally been convinced to go and get some sleep just after midnight. Sam had been trying for at least an hour to convince them, it had taken Cas five minutes, speaking to each of them separately. Gently confiding first in Jess, then a short while later talking to Marcy.

He had confided in Jess of his concern for Marcy. “I don’t want her to get too exhausted, she’s remarkable and strong, but she shouldn’t really have left the hospital. She’s had two attempts on her life in less than a month and I’d feel so much happier knowing at least she was getting some rest. She won’t go for her own sake, and we’ll never get her to go to bed, but if I convince her to help you with JD...well she can doze on the sofa or in a chair… like she does at the gas station. Gabe and I will look after Sam, I promise. One of you should be with your son, there’s nothing more to decide, just waiting. As soon as we hear back about Dean, Sam will be right down to you anyway. Wild horses wouldn’t keep him away, you know that.”

She looked deep into his eyes and gave him a little nod.

Marcy was harder to convince, of course, but Cas knew her achilles heel. “JD is still so tiny and Jess is still postnatal, she really needs to sleep. There’s nothing else to be done tonight. Jess won’t go while everyone else is still up, but there’s really nothing more either of you can do tonight. Do you think you could convince her to go down with you…you could encourage her to lie down in her room and keep an ear on them both from the lounge area. I promise I’ll wake you if we hear any news about Dean.”

Marcy patted his hand. “All right, my sweet boy, I’ll go, so long as you do, mind, no matter what the time I want to know he is all right. I could keep you company, been not sleeping like this for years, but I am tired, so I guess it’s all the same to me.”

Sam stared at them in wonderment as Jess quietly announced that she and Marcy were going down to their suite to JD. “You come down, soon as you hear about Dean, Sam. You need to sleep too.” She kissed his astonished face gently and they gripped hands just briefly before she trailed after Marcy.

The door closed behind them and Sam turned his stunned face towards Cas, he gave a ‘huh?’ and then said softly, “I don’t know whether to check for signs of witchcraft or just beg for lessons, sensai.”

Bal snorted. “Despite all outward appearances of being an awkward little bean. Cas has always been good at wrangling people, when he wants to. He lets those long lashes bat over those sweet baby blues and ‘poof’ it’s all over. He’s been pulling this shit since fourth grade. It’s that innocent, puppy dog look he gives, no-one other than his nearest and dearest are will ever believe what a sly little deviant he is.”

“Bal! Sam doesn’t need to hear that.”

“What? It’s not like I’m telling him a trade secret. He’s just watched you at work… Oh right… it’s the deviancy you’re objecting too… it’s not like he won’t find out soon enough… I’m sure he’s intending on hosting you and Deano at some point.”

“You know what, Bal, Cas is right,” Sam mumbled. “I really don’t need to hear that.”

\---

Gabe stared at the latest update on his phone from Kali. He had slipped his phone onto silent, after about the fourth time he had been pressed for information by the others. He looked across at them. Sam was slumped in an arm chair, his long legs flopped open. Must be awkward for the kid, Gabe thought idly, he made normal furniture seem Lilliputian.

Cas was sprawled along the longest of the sofas. He had fallen asleep at last, flopped awkwardly sideways against Bal’s shoulder, barely even stirring as Gabe and Bal shifted him gently onto a cushion and pulled a throw over him. He might be 24 years old and six feet tall, but Gabe could still see the echoes of the pre-teen boy. The doofus smile was still there, the brilliant blue eyes, the hair that wouldn’t behave itself properly unless it held enough product to stock an entire drugstore, his mannerisms still so childlike… He poured himself a finger of scotch and handed another refill of brandy to Bal.

“How are you holding up?” Bal asked.

“I don’t know, if I’m honest,” Gabe replied. “Until today I thought my brother was just an arrogant, manipulative asshole. I always suspected he hid those drugs in my room to set me up with Dad, but this… I never dreamed he was capable of all this. Shit, Bal. I left Cas all alone in that house. If I’d just stood up to Raph back then. Made Dad listen to me… I keep wondering whether things would have got this bad.”

“He was pretty devastated when you left,” Bal said softly, “but he had Michael. He sort of stepped in where you left off. He didn’t make him laugh quite the same, but he did help with homework and do all the school stuff.”

“I should have been there for him. I should have found a way. Listening to Sam… the things Dean did for him… Cas could never say any of his family were there for him that way.”

“You’re here now and he’s grateful for it. Besides he had his friends...Is there any chance she’s still alive, do you think?” he asked, quietly, voice beginning to break. “Cas will never forgive himself and it’s not down to him. I sent her in there. It’s all my fault…”

“Here we all are bending over backwards to take the blame, you, me, Michael and probably Cas...this is all on Raphael.  Psychopathic bastard. We just have to hope that he thinks he can still keep control, if he does, and she isn't already dead, he may keep her alive as a bargaining chip. If he thinks it’s all over… then he has no reason to keep her alive.”

\--- 

This time Dean jumped awake. He knew instantly that the clanging sound echoing around his cell was the door hatch sliding shut. He squinted into the darkness and could just make out a dark rectangle on the floor.

He dropped his own feet onto the cold concrete and slid along the bunk, reaching down to retrieve the object. He felt the rough warm texture under his fingers. It was a book. He lifted it carefully and squinted at it trying to make out any details. He glanced upwards and could just about make out the surveillance bug eye in the ceiling, the reflection of the night light curved on its sleek surface and then he realised, the little green LED was no longer shining. The camera in his cell had either failed or it had been turned off. He settled back against the wall in the darkness and used his fingertips to try and glean what details he could. 

\--- 

Gabe had managed to sleep on the flight, but he was beginning to feel the exhaustion now. He read the update from Kali again. He could manage to stay awake another couple of hours. Then he would know, one way or another and he would have to decide whether to wake Cas and Sam or let them both sleep. It depended he supposed on whether he had good news to tell them. If it wasn't maybe he should let them both sleep as long as possible to delay the inevitable flood of grief.


	24. Chapter 24

He leaned back, shifting his head as a particularly prominent nobble of concrete pressed painfully into his scalp. It was hard to judge time, but he’d certainly been awake for long enough that his eyes were as adjusted to the gloom as they were going to get. The red blush outlining shapes and edges was not going to help him even work out the name printed on the spine, let alone the text. He opened the leather cover and tried to squint at the title page. He could just about make out the largest print, blood black against the rose blush of the page. He cursed softly. “You have to be fucking kidding me!” The Innocents. The last time he had held this book he had been sat in the sunshine of the recreation yard. So who had picked it up from the dust? Bass, maybe? or Benny? Or someone else entirely? Was it even the same copy, and why the fuck had someone slid it into his cell in the pitch dark?

He looked up at the bug-eye of the security system. It felt like it was staring back. Glassy and uncaring, but the lack of green shine meant that his instincts were lying. To hell with it. He was pissed with all this game playing. He shoved the book away frustrated and stood suddenly. Intent on hammering on the door and demanding answers. He actually froze mid stride, like a cartoon cliche, when he heard the buzz and click of one of the controlled doors somewhere outside of his cell. It was heavily muffled, but he could hear the sounds of movement. The cell doors here opened outwards, it made sure that prisoners had no door to hide behind, no blind spot to give advantage over the guards entering the room, but he pressed himself against the wall, close to the corner alongside the door anyway. He had no weapon, no means to defend himself beside his bare hands and his wits, but back to the corner, nothing in his way until the low modesty wall in front of the toilet pan, he was buying himself a precious few seconds and a little space.

He strained to hear. Felt, more than heard the dull thud of deadbolts clunking open, as vibrations through the concrete under his hands and against his shoulders. A few more muffled sounds, a subtle scraping noise, another clunk and then silence. The hiss of total silence, so complete that the scuff of his boots making fresh contact with the floor as he relaxed away from the wall seemed to echo around his cell. He loosened his muscles and mentally shook himself. This was ridiculous. He hadn’t gone one full 24 hour cycle yet and he was already on a hair trigger.  Iso was brutal.

He listened again, but there really was nothing to hear. He sat back down on the thin rubber of his bunk and rolled sideways slightly to fish the book out from under his thigh. It snagged on the fabric of his jumpsuit as he pulled it clear. The rectangular shape didn’t look right, something was off about the spine. He moved his fingertips over the book and caught a distinct lip. He played at it with his fingernails and felt it give, something was pulling loose. He fiddled some more until the object slid free, it felt for all the worlds like a ruler. A plastic ruler, why the hell would someone put a ruler in the spine of a book? He turned it over his hand, squinting, but all he could make out was the shape, a half inch wide, about six inches long but barely a 16th deep. It was mostly smooth, besides a small hard bump at one end. He felt along the length, his index finger dipping into an oval hollow… there was a click like someone popping bubble wrap and the vision of his left eye exploded with colour. “Son of a bitch!” He slammed his eyes shut and almost dropped the damn thing. The book did fall from his lap and hit the ground with a slam. He blinked hard and stared down at the object still in his hands. It took a few seconds for the negative afterimage to disappear. The LED that had popped his retina was now shining harmlessly on the orange of his jump-suited leg.

He grabbed the book from where it had fallen to the floor during his manly tussle with the torch bookmark and opened it carefully. He flicked through the pages, held it by the spine and gently fanned it open, checked the frontispiece, the back pages, along the edges of the cover and even rechecked the spine. If this was meant to be a message it was a bit fucking obscure.

\---

_The smell of breakfast lured Cas from a deep sleep. He let the blanket covering him slip to the floor and, rubbing sleep from eyes still too heavy to open fully, ambled towards the enticing odour, sniffing the air like a dog. Bacon, the sulfurous hint of eggs … and coffee… ground coffee no less…  The carpet was soft under his feet and he wondered briefly who had removed his socks and shoes. He didn’t remember much after talking himself to the point of exhaustion._

_He could hear the murmur of voices and made more of an effort, squinting into the light and impatiently rubbing his forefingers along his eyelids. He opened his mouth to speak and found his throat too dry and tight. Irritated he coughed to clear his throat. The sound of voices dropped away. The table was laden with food, pancakes, piles of bacon, eggs both fried and scrambled, plate upon plate of food. He barely noticed the people sat at either end of the table, the light in the room was so bright, all he could make out was the silhouette against the window that held his full attention as he raised his arm to shield his eyes._

_“Sit down, little brother, before you fall down.”_

_The surge of adrenaline on hearing Raph’s voice made his heart spasm painfully and he felt the bile rising in his throat. Now the other voices were coming clearer again, one gruff and masculine, one feminine, both saying his name. He glanced right first, Meg sat on one of the rickety chair, dressed in a soft chiffon pantsuit, its elegance completely at odds with the badly smeared makeup and bruising to her face.  Struggling to free herself from unseen bindings, her eyes wide and pleading._

_“Time to choose, Castiel. You can’t save them both.”_

_“Noooo.” He lurched forward, sending the table flying, fists balling ready to punch that smug urbane smile into a bloody pulp. He fought as hands grabbed him and began to pin him down. He fought and kicked as they knocked him to the ground, staring up into Dean’s despairing eyes, handsome face twisted in pain as Adler gripped his hair pulling his head down to force him to look, the orange jumpsuit nearly obscured by twist upon twist of white silky strands._

_“At least I’m letting you choose, Cassie. I can do it for you if you can’t make up your mind or perhaps we’ll just kill you all...” His brother’s silhouette was mutating, arms and legs elongating, the kitchen floor was no longer a floor it became soft, spongy, giving under him as he fought, not hands, strands of sticky web. The furniture melted away and he could feel the web shaking as he turned his head looking first towards Dean then Meg. Adler, mutated into something grey and spindly poised over Dean and Uriel, his huge bug eyes sprouting from his cheeks, closing in on Meg. Then he could see nothing as the spider form he knew to be Raphael filled his vision and obscured everything else..._

_“Poor little Cassie! Whoever you choose, you’re going to lose them both. Poor little Cassie._ Cassie. Cas. Cas.” The voice was changing, losing its mocking, sneering edge, dropping to something softer, to the voice of someone kinder.  There were hands at his shoulders, no longer gripping his wrists, but gently shaking him and a cool hand was stroking the hair out of his face. “Cas, wake up. Cas.”

\---

  
Jody stared vaguely dumbfounded at the man stood on her doorstep. Of all the people she expected to be stood squinting at her from the porch when she answered the door dishcloth in hand, it sure as hell wasn’t him.

He looked a little lost and strangely under-dressed in jeans and a casual shirt.  His arms tightly gripping a cardboard box, the word Winchester scrawled across it in black ink. “I think I found something.”

With a sigh and a grim nod, Jody finished wiping the soap suds off her hands and stepped aside pushing the door wide, inviting him into her home. “You’re a little late for breakfast, but I think the coffee’s still hot.”

\---

The Vegas sky was lightening with the first rays of dawn when Gabriel heard the gentle chink and clatter as the hotel staff pushed a heavily laden breakfast trolley into the lobby of his private quarters. He threw back the remnants of the whisky tumbler which by some miracle had stayed in his fist on the arm of the chair where he had been dozing for the last few hours. He smiled at the young woman pushing the trolley. She was one of his favourites and he winked at her. “You sure are a sight for sore eyes…” he began, halting in his tracks when Kali appeared.

He set the glass down quickly, “How come you can work all night and still look so beautiful?”

She gave him a look. More specifically she gave him _the_ look. It was the look that said she wasn’t buying it and if he carried on trying it, he might just live to regret it. _The_ look that had stopped his philandering ways in a heartbeat and could still turn him inside out even when he was only caught mildly flirting. In short it was the look he had fallen for and would never stop falling for. Not for the first time he thanked his lucky stars that his wife not only tolerated his idiosyncrasies, but seemed to love him despite them.

The door shut with a heavy click as the staff quietly left. He slid his arms around her waist and pulled her close, drinking in her scent, subtly twisting her so that he could let his one arm snake towards the trolley to grab a pastry. Kali returned his embrace, sighing slightly as she realised what he was doing. They drew apart and he munched on the croissant waggling his eyebrows. She sighed more deeply this time, her facade slipping briefly, showing just how weary she was. “Did you tell them?”

“No,” he licked a flake of pastry off his lip, “Figured I’d let them sleep while they could. Today is gonna be a long one and neither of them would have got any shut eye once they…”

“Noooooo.” The shout drew their attention back to the room beyond.

Both Bal and Sam were leaning over the sofa where Cas had sprawled for the night. Sam gripped him gently as he fought in his sleep. Bal gently stroking sweat slicked hair away from his forehead. “Cassie,” he muttered softly.

Sam let go of Cas’ wrists as the tension dropped from them, sliding his hands upwards and gently shaking him by the shoulders. “Cas. Cas. Wake up, Cas.”

He opened his eyes suddenly, fighting up into a sitting position, blinking and running a shaky hand through the mess of dark hair. “Sorry,” he muttered, flicking his gaze from Sam to Bal and back again. “Just a nightmare.”

Gabe, Kali and Bal were all staring at him with a mixture of anxiety, fatigue and concern. Sam, however, caught his eye, giving him a brief reassuring smile. The look on his face was solid understanding as he settled onto the couch beside Cas. One hand still lingered and settled a gentle pat just above his knee. “Well?” he asked, turning his attention to Kali and re-focusing them all.

Kali pushed Gabriel towards the lobby and the trolley. “I’ve ordered us a breakfast. Let’s eat while we talk. Spengler should be back any moment and he’ll be coming straight up here with our guest.”

\---

It had been a long night. Adler rubbed the heels of his hands against his trouser legs, the finally healing skin itched unbearably. He still occasionally found another small piece of grit working its way to the surface when he succumbed to the temptation to scratch.

He had just finished a huge steak meal and been about to taste the delights of a bosomy young woman who had watched him with the focused attention only a paid liaison had ever afforded him, when his cell phone rang the night before. He had tried not to let the look of relief on her face bother him when he told her he had a change of plans. He’d paid her anyway and told her to keep the room for the night. No doubt she had put it to good use. It was uncharacteristically generous, but he was still preening from his successful disposal of Uriel and the steak had been good. Not even a summons from Angel could dampen his mood as he’d climbed into yet another nondescript vehicle and turned South.

Now as the rising sun striped deep maroon shadows across the reddened sandy landscape, reflecting brightly from the squat white stucco of a sprawl of single storey buildings, he waited patiently in the parking lot. Outside the car the heat was beginning to build already and he left the engine running just so the soft purr of the climate control could keep him at a pleasant 72 degrees.  

He had nothing to do until they arrived. He had already scouted the property and everything inside was ready. The generator was still relatively new and as the place had only been foreclosed in the last month or so he had made short work of readying the few rooms they needed to use, priming the plumbing and clearing the faint smell of drains with a few repeated flushes and leaving the showers running for half an hour. It was a curious spot to build a motel, there was nothing notable about the location, the scenery was not picturesque; in fact, it sat squat in a bowl of dust that pooled the heat and gave little chance of the respite from any breeze that happened through the desert. The long dusty drive up a side road was enough to deter even the most determined of ‘off-the-beaten-track’ tourists and it was too far out of town, a solid two hour drive because of the deteriorated state of the roadway that lead to it, to give it any right to class itself as a ‘Vegas’ motel. Not even the prostitutes and addicts were willing to come out this far. It really was little wonder that it had gone out of business and little surprise that it still sat on the property roster, forgotten and unsaleable. It was so unattractive as a prospect it hadn’t even attracted the attention of vandals and vagrants. All of which made it perfect for their current needs.

He closed his eyes and dozed lightly. He would get no peace once Raphael arrived he knew. Not for the first time he thought about his future. Maybe it was time: His offshore bank accounts held more than enough to give him a very comfortable living in at least two thirds of the world. He had enough incriminating evidence in his safe to make sure that Angel would never dare come after him and he had the contacts to disappear discreetly and without entanglement to his non-extraditory haven of choice. It really was time.

In fact the only grit in his world oyster, literally he thought angrily, as he scratched at his hands again, was Castiel Angel. He had only himself to blame he realised, he had let it become personal, but goddammit he wanted to watch that little cock-sucker suffer. He wanted him broken and bloody, on his knees, both physically and emotionally. He wasn’t even sure he wanted him dead, but he definitely wanted the option and he wanted to be the engineer of his destruction, either way. It might be more satisfying to leave him shattered and alive, just to prolong the suffering. No matter what, Adler knew, he would get no satisfaction, no rest, wherever he sited his deck chair, no matter how sweet his margarita, no matter how willing and compliant the whores, while the need for revenge burned his gut from within. He grimaced and flattened his hands, forcing himself to relax. Within days possibly even hours, he would probably get his wish and then he would return to his office, retrieve his ‘insurance’ and get the hell out of town. The brief glint as the sun flashed off the windshield of an approaching vehicle at the one point where the roadway was visible between the surrounding hills gave him the few minutes he needed to turn off the engine and clamber from the car, by the time the sleek black car, the prominent silver motif of the Jaguar in its distinctive grill spattered with red dust, appeared he was stood in front of the building, as if he had been waiting there the whole time.

\---  
  
Dean jumped awake as the hatch shot open and a tin tray rattled across the concrete. A disembodied voice called “Breakfast!” The disorientation lasted only seconds, the solid feel of the book under his shoulder confirming that he had not been dreaming about events during the night. He sat up slowly and retrieved the tray, setting it onto the bunk, watching the coffee that had spilt during its slide across the floor soak into a pair of anaemic looking hash browns that lay on an unappetising bed of reconstituted scrambled egg. He glanced surreptitiously at the bug eye, the soft green glow had returned. He began folding his blanket, gazing accusingly at the book sitting benignly on his bunk, its purpose unfathomable to him.

It was as he was folding his blanket to use as a cushion for his back that he heard something else amidst the sounds of fabric, something that was more of a rustle, something altogether more paper like. He shook his blanket open again and spotted a flash of colour among the folds of grey wool. A gaudy bright paper fluttered from it onto his tray, dropping into the mess of coffee and glutinous egg. Using his body as a shield from the camera, he retrieved it and quickly smoothed it out with one hand, the remnants of the sticky 3m glue and the moisture from his breakfast assisting him by catching on the rubber of the bunk.

The thick fibre tip ink was smudging and blurring even as he looked at it, partially obscuring the message. He blotted it with his sleeve to prevent it from getting worse.

Sorry -- --------------  explain. B---- nd I

are --------- unde-----, w------ -------

so clos----d he --------ris ---------tting

hurt. Y-------------------------- touch with

go-------ws. Watch ou----- A---tair------

\--------- com- -et  -ou, tomorrow, 48 hours

\--------------------------------all be over.

“Great! Just fucking great.” Still at least it explained why the book had been shoved through his door in the first place. It had to be either Benny and I or Bass and I. Presumably that meant they were working together. His determination to make a statement about the attack, seemed melodramatic and ridiculous now. Maybe it always had been. Once again he had to just sit tight and wait. Wait for someone else to act. He didn’t like it. Miserably he used the cardboard fork to try and salvage something edible from the gloop left on his tray, washing it down with the brown gritty fluid that neither smelt nor tasted much like coffee.


	25. Chapter 25

Sam was watching Cas carefully. His career was built on his perceptiveness and ability to read people and situations. Even so it seemed ridiculous that he, who had known Cas for such a short period of time, should be noticing that he was shutting down, when his brother and his oldest friend seemed oblivious. So, instead of fulfilling his promise to go downstairs as soon as he had news of Dean, he focussed  on Cas. 

The news that the legal team had tracked down Bass and that he was no threat to Dean, in fact quite the opposite, had been welcome respite from the consistent slew of bad news and stress of the last few days. But it was _ only _ a respite; They were all under a lot of pressure, discussing issues and making decisions that were, literally, life and death. 

Sam glanced round the table. He liked these people. Kali: all cool professionalism when needed, the brilliance of her reputation, eclipsed totally by her brilliance in person. She was amazing and in any other situation Sam might be a little awestruck, but here in her home she was warm and generous.

She and Gabe were clearly deeply in love, still. They made a wonderful partnership. His sass and  gentle mocking wit a perfect foil for her sharp, no nonsense approach.

He even liked Bal, although he was definitely more of an acquired taste. He clearly thought the world of Cas and his loyalty just about outweighed his slightly sleazy exuberance. But Cas had become very withdrawn and none of them had noticed. At first he had thought it was maybe just the ‘nightmare’ but now he was almost certain there was something more and whatever it was: Cas wasn’t sharing.

He sat at the table with the rest of them, but had scarcely spoken a word: His whole body language screamed isolation. He was paying scant attention to the ongoing conversation. In fact, Sam wasn’t sure he was actually aware of anyone else at all, which was perhaps why he jumped when Bal suddenly spoke to him directly. “Cas, where’s the phone? It’s got to be getting low on charge. I don’t fancy sitting through anymore Canadian warbling to get it unlocked again… ”

With a slightly shifty look, Cas raised it from his lap and put it gently on the table next to his untouched plate. 

“Cas!” Bal admonished him through a mouthful of Danish, as he grabbed it with fingers dusty with pastry flakes. “There are new messages on here.” 

“The first one was just a good morning.” Cas’ voice was quiet, emotionless. Sam’s worryometer, finely tuned from years of reading Dean, cranked up another four or five levels. “Then… “

“He’s certainly persistent,” Bal murmured. “Just how many messages have they sent? I thought the lack of replies might have made him suspicious...”

And there it was, the slight intake of breath. The hint of flush to the cheeks and eyes already evasive, flicked a quick glance before sliding away again.

“Cas,” Sam said quietly. “What did you send?”

The others fell silent. As if Sam had shouted his question. 

“What the hell have you done Cas?” Bal was scrolling rapidly through the messages trying to find his friend’s replies.

The bright blue intensity as Cas raised his head contrasted sharply with the high red spots of heat in his cheeks. “I have to go,” he said, emphatically, before trailing off quietly. “She’s only there because of me.”

“Cas,” Gabe said sharply. “You know you can’t.”

“I can make a signed statement about Dean. Tell the DA the kidnap theory is bullshit. Kali can use it to get Dean released.” He closed his eyes and swallowed hard. 

“That’s not WHY you can’t go, you doofus.” Gabe snapped.

Kali quieted him instantly with a press of her hand. She shook her head. “I’m sorry Cas, but a signed statement won’t be enough anyways. The DA will need to see you in person. I offered a teleconference when we first contacted her and she was having none of it. If you don’t go to the meeting she won’t budge… she’s been convinced by your legal team that you’ve been groomed or brainwashed. You have to go there this afternoon to confirm that Valentine is no longer your representative, to prove that you are completely without duress. She has to speak to you, question you, meet you, so that she can see you are not the basket case she has been sold and show you are being 100% truthful about travelling with Dean of your own free will. Marcy’s statement will help, but you are the only one who can really convince her and you can only do that by going to her offices and talking to her.”

“Besides the chances are Meg’s already dead.” Gabe was exasperated. He wilted slightly under the varying degrees of indignation around the table , holding up his hands in a gesture of contrition. “I‘m sorry, I know she means a lot to you both, but we have to be realistic. You heard Michael… this ain’t no movie, Cas, you don’t get a free pass, because you’re the plucky hero. Raph is a bastard and he wants you dead.”

“You think I don’t know that,” Cas shouted. “You think  _ I DON’T KNOW  _ what he’s capable of. He had me beaten and drugged. He had my friend killed. I’ve had to live with the knowledge that he probably murdered our father and our brother for months. He’s a threat to everyone and everything I care about and all I could do was lie there and listen while what he was going to do was spelled out to me  _ in detail,  _ because the bastard had me strapped down to my own bed while he… Dammit.  The only thing that kept me from going crazy. The only link I had had to the outside world, to Dean, to all of you, the only glimmer of hope I had was Meg. She’s in this mess because of me and if she is still alive, I can’t just leave her. I just can’t.” 

For a moment no-one spoke. Finally Bal said softly. “It’s clearly a trap, but Cas is right, if there’s even the tiniest chance Meg is alive, we at least have to try.” 

Gabe stood sharply. “Of course we do. We all owe her, but you know what else we owe her...she went into that house to protect you, Cas. She put herself in danger to save you. How do you think she’d feel if you threw that away in some foolhardy half-assed rescue attempt? Something like, oh I don’t know, something like walking into a situation you know is a goddamned trap, for example.”

“Obviously, I’m not suggesting we let Cas go…” Bal grumbled.

Sam, who had been watching Cas’ jaw setting as the argument continued, was fairly certain that no-one was going to be ‘letting’ Cas do anything. He poured a fresh coffee and placed it just by the hand that hadn’t moved since it slid the phone onto the table.  “What message did you send, Cas? I’m guessing you are still playing along with the pretence that it’s Meg you’re texting.” 

Cas nodded, lips still drawn tight. Sam began slicing open a croissant, patiently filling it with butter. “I think you should send another message, see if we can get a motel name or an address. You can play at being paranoid. Tell ‘Meg’ you’re worried that you might have been followed. That you don’t want to put her at risk. Then while you, Marcy and Kali are busy getting my dumb ass brother released, we can get on with some research for you. By the time you come back, Michael will be here and we’ll maybe have some more info from the hard-drive.” 

He scooped a clump of jelly into the pastry and casually slipped it onto the empty plate in front of Cas wiping his fingers on his napkin. Sam stood up, trying not to feel too smug as Cas pulled the plate closer. His stubborn demeanour dissolving into something more  relaxed as he lifted the mug to his lips. He nodded to the others. “Now, if you’ll all excuse me, I need to go downstairs. And please, someone reset my place setting, If either of them realise I didn’t go down with news almost immediately, I’ll either be divorced or dead before the rest of you have finished breakfast, depending on which of them gets their hands on me first.”

\---

Bass was conscious that he and Spengler looked like a pair of high school buddies on their way to collect their prom dates in borrowed suits as they stood side by side in the elevator. He straightened his fingers and purposefully relaxed himself. After the fourth time that he had been sent into high schools and colleges undercover he had grown a beard to make himself look older. Maybe it had worked, maybe not, all he knew for sure was that his next undercover job had been this one and it was a lot easier to figure out what was going on when you were dealing with rapists, serial killers and drug dealers than it was to deal with jocks, cheerleaders and the chess club. 

He had given Spengler short shrift to begin with. He’d hung up the phone on him at 3am approximately 30 seconds into their first conversation. The second call lasted a few minutes before he decided he’d had enough of if and slammed the phone down in disgust. He had taken it off the hook when it rang again three times in quick succession.  It was much harder (read impossible) however to ignore the persistent hammering on his apartment door at 4.45 the same morning. He was pretty certain he was going to lose his deposit. The building super wasn’t exactly the most reasonable of men anyway. He had in it for Bass ever since the unfortunate incident with the wing mirror of his chrysler and Bass’ U-haul hire. Even after Bass had apologised profusely and paid what he considered to be an extortionate amount for it to be fixed. 

And the cat thing was plain ridiculous. The vet said ‘Tinkerbell’ was going to make a complete recovery. And it was hardly Bass’ fault that she had chose the exact moment he burnt his dinner to stroll across the balustrade of his balconette. He hadn’t deliberately hit her with the window as he threw it open to clear the smoke. Weren’t cats supposed to land on their feet anyway? 

Admittedly the full scale evacuation of the building that night was down to Bass and his lack of focus on his meal. He would never roll a joint before dinner again. But the suspicion with which the man glared at him every time he set foot out of his own door was excessive. And it wasn’t his fault that Spengler wouldn’t take no for an answer.

The lift gave a little ping, waking him from his internal monologue. He took a deep breath and followed Spengler out of the lift.

\---

“And you’re sure he’s safe?” The gimlet eye stare that Marcy levelled at Sam would have caused a lesser man to hide behind his wife. Jess dropped her head against the cushions, legs curled under her on the armchair he had definitely not just slid behind. He let his hand fall onto her bare shoulder, squeezing it gently as she gazed up at him, her lips quirking into a little laugh, as if she had read his mind. Self-consciously, he cleared his throat and nodded. The ever perfect hair swinging as he did so.

He looked up and held Marcy’s gaze. “For the time being. Until he gets released. Apparently this Bass and Dean’s cellmate are working together and this whole fight thing was a way of getting Dean moved to isolation.”

Marcy looked utterly unconvinced. 

Sam smiled at her. “Kali suggested it might be best if Bass came here to explain things, as reassurance and to make sure the he ‘understands’ exactly what is at stake. And Spengler… well Spengler made it his personal mission to ensure he did.”

Jess chuckled. “I think Spengler has a bit of a crush.”

“Well she is pretty awesome. I mean, I know how to track and dig dirt, but this legal team… they really are something else. They worked most of the night to trace Bass’ connections. He’s the grandson of a some second tier Nazi hunter. His father and Uncle carried on their father’s work. With most of their original targets dead and the chances of meaningful prosecution gone, they moved into recovering the proceeds of Nazi crime and that lead them to discover various neo-nazi groups. Bass is in the family business, hunting nazis and saving paintings.”

“I’m not sure of the details of it, but it seems, as only he can, Dean has managed to become cellmates with a man caught up in the middle of a gargantuan conspiracy. Whatever it is, this Bass is investigating.”

“And that is what he’s coming to explain?” Jess asked, desperately trying not to yawn. For the first time Sam took in the bluish hint below her eyes and just how pale and thin she seemed. He nodded again. “I’d better get dressed…” she said, her long legs, graceful as fern leaves unfurling as she made to stand up. Sam bit his lip, knowing after a few short years of bitter experience, that if he got his words wrong in the next few minutes, there wasn’t a way in hell he was going to convince his wife to stay, to rest, to spend her time with their son. 

Marcy caught Sam’s eye as he opened his mouth to speak. “I think young lady, you should get yourself into bed. That little bruiser you birthed is gonna wake in a few hours and he needs his mama. Sam and I will go and find out what this Bass has to say for himself.”

Jess nodded meekly and let Sam gently brush his lips over her cheek before she wandered in the direction of the bedroom. He stared after her. First Cas and now Marcy; he really needed to start taking notes. He was surrounded by Jess whisperers.

\---

“Your family has quite a reputation, Mr Bass,” Kali’s smile was predatory to say the very least as she poured yet more beautifully, aromatic coffee into the mugs around the table. “High profile cases. Billions of pounds worth of valuable paintings, gold, antiques, all returned to their original owners, occasionally even via legitimate channels…” she paused and Aaron Bass squirmed despite his best efforts to hold up to her scrutiny. He had nothing to be ashamed of. Not really. His family did good things. “...never specifically named as the agents of return, but always … there… somewhere.”

“Ah, Sam,” Gabe said as Bass took in the sight of the hugely tall young man entering the room with a woman who reminded Bass instantly of his own grandmother. With an exaggerated wink that no-one failed to miss, including the old lady, her eyes narrowing in suspicion, Gabe added, “We saved you some breakfast, kiddo. You want a coffee Marcy?” his voice was far too bright, amber eyes innocent as a box of kittens in blue ribbons. Grabbing the cafetiere from Kali, he poured without waiting for her answer. Sliding the mug round.

Marcy steadfastly ignored him, fussing briefly over Cas. He let himself be inspected, her parchment fingers first gripping his chin, then gently patting his cheek. Seemingly satisfied, she purposefully sat in the chair next to him. The one that moments before Gabe had vacated and looked across the table expectantly.

Sam shook Aaron’s hand as Spengler made swift introductions, before dropping into his own seat, as Kali continued, “And then we have the exposure of a neo-nazi organisation, infiltrating US high schools, working to convert youngsters to white supremacist ideals… and there is the same young man, in three of those schools where teaching and support staff were arrested, who looks suspiciously familiar.”

“The beard, good move by the way,” Gabe added, moving round the table in search of a free chair. “The whole Dawson casting thing is just so 90’s. I mean have you seen 22 Jump Street. Channing Tatum playing a grown man pretending to be a 15 year old, puh-lease.” He rolled his eyes, further bemusing Bass, who shifted awkwardly in his seat. Hooded eyes down cast to the table, where Kali was elegantly adding creamer to his coffee. He flattened his hand over the mug as she poised with the sugar tongs in unspoken question. 

Spengler, who had been experiencing the carefully choreographed double act for several weeks now, was quite enjoying watching them at work. 

“So Mr Bass. I guess, all things considered, the reason we invited you here, is so that we can explain to you the nature of the very delicate and intricate case you have, inadvertently I grant you, become embroiled in and work out exactly what we can do to ensure that you are inconvenienced as little as possible. We would like to make sure that we use this happy accident to full advantage.”

‘Invited’ was not the word Bass would have used to describe his near abduction to this Las Vegas hotel. Spengler had been fairly clear on the consequences of not returning with him. Including and not limited to a full disclosure of him and his family and their activities to whichever press organisation was the most interested. He cleared his throat and explained as succinctly as he could.

His family had been investigating the activities of a group who called themselves the Eihwaz. They dealt in black market artworks, people trafficking and drug smuggling, had links to the far right in the Ukraine. A high profile member of the organisation had been imprisoned, but it had become clear that he was continuing to operate from inside the jail, recruiting a small cell of new followers. 

His father had a friend, a man he had met when he worked with the US Navy closing down another smuggling operation. A man who was now a prisoner himself, following a stupid and unnecessary altercation and with their contacts it had been possible to get this man transferred to right where they needed him. This man had spent the last four years gathering evidence, ready to expose the members of the group inside and out. This man was called Benny Lafitte and it was in fact Dean, who had inadvertently stumbled into an incredibly delicate and important case and that was why it had been necessary, for his own safety to get him out of the way.

Kali nodded. “Harry tells me you have made sure that Dean is safe and that you have a way of getting messages to him. You need to understand that you have become useful to us, Mr Bass. We have reason to believe that Dean is in danger. It is entirely possible that the subject of our investigation has the means to enter the prison and do him harm. We were afraid that his recent trip to the infirmary was the work of this… our… third party. But I understand that this was not the case.”

Bass blushed. “That was… erm… the only way to get him into isolation convincingly was to… erm… to have him involved in… that is…” he was suddenly aware that the somewhat elderly Mrs Kunsberger was lancing him with a look that seemed to be channelling his own long dead grandmother. ‘Dummkopf,’ he heard her say in his memories and he rallied valiantly, but he had lost his train of thought. 

“You tased him,” Cas’ voice was low and dangerous, “and gave him concussion, because you didn’t do it right.” Everyone was looking at him vaguely surprised at his tone, except for Marcy, who patted his hand.

“It’s all right, Cas, my sweet boy. I’m sure Mr Bass is doing everything he can,  _ will _ be doing everything he can to make it up to Dean, that’s right isn’t it Mr Bass.” 

Bass gulped at his coffee nervously, it was still way too hot and burned the edges of his tongue, but that mug was the only barrier between him and the rolling wall of approbation coming at him across the table. Yup, give him serial killers and drug dealers any day. 

“It was an accident,” he murmured weakly, feeling the prickle of little tiny white blisters catching the insides of his teeth as they sprouted along his tongue. “I had to make it look realistic.” He thought about the look that Benny had given him as Dean hit the ground, but there wasn’t time to mess around. Benny needed injuries, as it was, they hadn’t had time to mark Winchester’s hands, his original plan to stamp on them thwarted when they were interrupted by the uncharacteristically swift arrival of Alastair.

Kali was talking again. Bass realised he had missed something important. She would make an excellent poker player, but he still caught the tiniest flash of irritation as he said, “I’m sorry?”

“Does Dean know what is going on? Does he know he’s going to be released? Does he know how important it is to keep his head down?” It was the dark haired, blue eyed spitbomb again. 

“Of course, I made sure that a message was given to Dean during the night. There’s been a minor complication, because Mr Crowley, the prison governor has put Benny into isolation, too. I’d already swapped myself onto the late shift rota to cover Isolation today so Benny and I could continue our mission. But it also means I’ll be in a position to offer my services in protecting Dean until he is released. I can also brief him with any messages you may have in the interim.”

“It’s entirely possible, by the time we have concluded our business with the DA it will be too late to complete the release paperwork before close of business today…”

Bass took another gulp, tilting the mug back, the cool of the cream floating towards the top soothed his stinging tongue. He swallowed and set his coffee cup down. “I can easily ensure that one of the night shift staff meets with an unforeseen emergency, we’re short-staffed and the supervisor is on annual leave… they will be quite pleased to let me volunteer… and obviously I will postpone our operations until Dean is clear… My family have been doing this for a long time, I was born to it, raised to do it. When it comes to this kind of thing you couldn’t be in better hands, I’m a professional when it comes to this kind of operation. Aware of every detail, prepared for every nuance. Your friend and brother is safe with me, I’m a true expert in my field.”

He glanced around the table, proud of his little speech until his eyes settled on Marcy’s sceptical expression. “That’s all very reassuring, young man. I’m sure that would have given us all great confidence and comfort, if you hadn’t been sporting a cream moustache while you spoke.”

\--- 

Marcy, Sam and Cas sat quietly in the lounge. Kali had dragged Bass off to meet with some of the legal team to finalise some document or other, apparently determined to get his co-operation on some kind of official footing, Spengler following after her as her ever faithful hound. Gabe had taken a phone call from his hotel staff and scuttled away to deal with whatever pressing issue needed his undivided attention. Bal had not yet returned from his shower. Sam presumed he had probably passed out on his bed. He could feel the deep itch of tiredness in the soft tissue around his own eyes. 

The waiting was brutal. Each was lost to their own thoughts, as time ticked slowly by. “I need to make a visit,” Marcy said suddenly, relinquishing her grip of Cas’ hand. She seemed reluctant to lose physical contact with him, as if she needed it to reassure herself he was indeed sat here with her and it wasn’t until she was two paces away and it wasn’t possible to still be touching him that her fingers finally slid away from his arm. “Can’t be my age and drink that much coffee without expecting to need to make a visit. And I saw that Castiel. I’m old not blind.”

“I didn’t do anything,” he protested.

“No, but you thought about it.” The ridiculousness of her seeing him up to something in his thoughts made him giggle and Sam couldn’t help but chuckle as the tension leached from Cas’ posture.

Marcy ambled stiffly in the direction of the bathroom just off the hallway. “She’s amazing,” Sam confided. “If anyone could read our thoughts, it would be Marcy. She has Jess eating out of her hand.”

Cas nodded. “She certainly inspires loyalty and she’s been very kind to both Dean and I. She was there when we needed her the first time and she’s been coming through for us both ever since.”

“She’s not the only one Cas, willing to help I mean.” He pressed on, knowing that maybe if he didn’t say what was on his mind, he would bottle it. Dean wasn’t the only Winchester who carried communication issues. Sam was by far the more emotionally literate of the two brothers, but he too, found it hard sometimes. The need to keep things repressed deeply programmed into their respective psyche during childhood.

“Our lives haven’t always been that great, but we’ve been surprisingly lucky really, with the people we have met, the family we’ve gained I mean...don’t you think?”

“I’m hardly the best person to ask about family loyalty, Sam. I’m on fifty fifty strike rate after all, I think my friends are… well, let’s just say they leave my family wanting. You and Dean have lost so much, yet and this is one of the things I admire about you both, you are still willing to help other people, even strangers. Dean says that’s why you aren’t some ‘hotshot asshole laywer’ and you’re using your training to work pro-bono cases and...the other stuff that you do.”

“Well the people who took our case didn’t get paid, it’s my way of giving back. But that’s by the by, tragedy aside, Dean and I have been damned lucky. We’ve met people who made our lives so much better. And when you find good people you hang on to them for all you are worth and you make sure you are there for them. People like Bobby, Jody and now Marcy… Friends, family it doesn’t matter what you call them…”

Cas nodded. “Of course and you have Jess and JD. You have built your own little family...”

Sam nodded. Was Cas being deliberately obtuse? Or maybe he just didn’t realise. “Yes, I have my Jess… and Dean has you.” He reached out and dropped his hand onto Cas’ shoulder, feeling the muscle flex under the cotton of his shirt as Cas tensed, just briefly, before he relaxed into the grip. “What I’m trying to say, Cas… dammit...I guess Uncle Bobby put it best. Family don’t end with blood, Cas. I understand, how you feel about Meg. What I’m trying to say Cas. You’re part of us now and whatever you need, however I can help, I’m here for you. Ok?”


	26. Chapter 26

“You really wrote this encryption program… from scratch…”

“It’s not so difficult really.

“Well, it’s brilliant… you are brilliant.”

“I wouldn’t have anything to unencrypt if you hadn’t used that glue trick to make a fingerprint. That was brilliant.”

“Nah...I copied it from a film.”

The red head looked up briefly from her work at the computer and she nodded. “Ant Man. Still brilliant to think of it.”

“Yes, yes,” Michael was a little sharper than he meant to be, but after three hours of playing the gooseberry… “can we all just agree, you’re both brilliant and concentrate on the job at hand…” He growled impatiently as his phone began to ring.He checked it briefly, kicking the call to answerphone.

“Well someone is more Oscar than Big Bird,” Charlie muttered under her breath.

“Oh, I don’t know… I think he’s more of a Grover,” Kasia whispered, fingers flexing into Charlie’s shoulder as they giggled together.

Michael continued to pace up and down, tapping his phone against his hand. Charlie continued to work, fingers flicking across the keyboard, occasionally commenting and pointing out bits of code to Kasia.  And Kasia, when she wasn’t lost in adoration at Charlie’s ‘brilliance’ with coding, continued to stare longingly, losing herself in the subtle variations of fire in Charlie’s hair.

Eventually, with the faintest of smug smiles, Charlie sat back. “That’s it. All the files in readable format.”

“Readable?” Michael frowned slightly, thinking of the audio files and photographs they had been discussing.

Kasia rolled her eyes. “Readable by the computer…”

“Ah,” he laughed slightly at his own moment of stupidity. It made him look years younger.

“The stuff here…” Charlie’s voice trailed away as she clicked into and out of things, reading and digesting at a speed that made Michael feel dizzy. “He has recordings of activities, logs of requests, information on the various things he has done on Raphael’s orders. Links to evidence… it’s… well… it’s massively incriminating for himself as well as your brother. There’s everything here from insider trading to fraud to extortion, blackmail and ...murder.” Michael felt pathetically grateful, when Kasia squeezed his arm gently as Charlie spoke. 

“We’ll make two copies of the hard-drive and then reinstate the encryption on the original. It will take an expert to figure out that it’s been broken,” the hint of pride in Charlie’s voice, was reflected by the look that Kasia was giving her.

Michael swallowed. Decision time. He picked up the phone and rang the only other asset he had that he had not yet really utilised. The only other person he knew whose loyalty was without question.

\---

Amelia Weismuller had worked for Angel Inc. straight out of secretarial college. She was old school. She had learnt shorthand, honed her skills on an IBM typewriter and seen the rise and fall of the fax machine. To start with she had been in the steno pool. My, that seemed archaic now. A room full of typists, clattering away on machines either from dictation tapes, or shorthand notes, the smell of carbon paper and that proof of failure, correction fluid. “A good typist has no need of correction fluid, Amelia.” The grande dame of the steno pool with her silk blouses and pearls, floating past, stopping only to proof read, or check nail lengths, or that hair was adequately fastened, or skirt lengths, heaven forbid that any of the ‘girls’ should wear slacks. “Slacks on the legs, slack in the office, girls.”

“Are you writing these down, Amelia? We should embroider cushions, for her retirement present.” She smiled at the memory of her sharp-tongued colleague. They had begun to take lunch together everyday, rain or shine, wind catching at their stockinged ankles. And that was set to be her life, until she caught the eyes of some nice young man, who would provide the income, while she provided everything else. Then one morning, just after coffee break, instead of returning to her little pile of work, with a bristle of efficiency, she’d been sent ‘upstairs’, catching a snippet of the telephone conversation as she left,“... all my girls are highly competent, but this one, she’s almost too clever for her own good...”

She had arrived carrying her few personal possessions to her new assignment and found herself at 20 running errands for Mr Charles Angel’s Personal Assistant. Not his secretary, his PA. A beautiful, capable, intelligent woman, who he treated as a capable, intelligent woman. A beautiful, capable, intelligent woman with thick black hair, the brightest blue eyes that Amelia had ever seen and a smile that struck as brief and brilliant as lightning. A beautiful, capable, intelligent woman who wore pant suits and treated Amelia with the kind of respect she had never received from any superior before. The scales of a strict Lutheran upbringing were notjust dislodged from Amelia Weismuller’s eyes: Amelia Robertson took a sledge hammer to them. And Amelia Weismuller was smitten. But there couldn’t be two Amelia’s. 

“My best friend at school called me Amy,” Amelia Weismuller said shyly, after the fourth time it had caused confusion. And that was that. The new ID and name badge sat shining on her desk the next morning. 

With two weeks, Amy had started to wear a pant suit to work and bought herself a pair of low heeled slingbacks, because she loved them. “Always wear things you like, Amy. They suit you better if you like them.”

After two months, she stood shyly staring at her favourite slingbacks, as she revealed her new elfin haircut. Meeting those brilliant blue eyes, as soft fingers casually tipped up her chin. “I can’t see how it suits your face with your head down, Ames… oh wow, that is perfect.” She shivered at the contact as those fingers brushed the tip of her ear, petting a stray strand into place. “Just perfect.”

Within four months, she was reading and editing reports. Adding her comments and corrections under Amelia’s promise that she wouldn’t tell Chuck that it was Amy’s work. Blushing furiously as Amelia replied to Mr Angel’s compliments with a quick. “Oh that was Amy, she has a first class mind.” The brilliant smile flashing without apology as soon as his back was turned. “You deserve the credit for it, Ames.” She used the small bonus and the increase in salary to pay the deposit on her own little apartment.

Within six months, Mr Angel asked her directly to “just write the damn things for him, Amelia is right about you. You really do have a great grasp of essentials and an excellent turn of phrase.” This time the salary doubled.

Two years later, she watched, aware that the bitter sweet pang in her chest was the bitter sweet mix of jealousy and joy, as Amelia Robertson, beautiful, intelligent, capable Amelia Robertson became Amelia Angel.

Four years later, she stood alone, disbelieving and bereft beside a freshly filled grave. And although she caught the eye of many nice young men over the next few years, they never caught hers back. Sometimes, when Chuck was away, she let had herself into his office and stared at the portrait. 

And that was where she stood today, waiting patiently for her two young visitors and their precious cargo. Since Chuck’s death it had been harder to get in here. Raphael had taken over this suite, but barely used this quiet sanctum, he preferred the ostentatious glamour of the double sided corner office down the corridor. In the double glass corner of which, nearly two decades ago, Amy had found the tiny figure of the boy who would have been her godson if his mother had lived long enough to have him christened. Half conscious, feverish and delirious pressed into the glass. It was she who had carried him back and laid him on this sofa. She who had gently washed him clean of the sticky residue of ice cream while Chuck anxiously called for a doctor. She who had helped Michael take him home and put him to bed. So like his mother it broke her heart and lead to the tear soaked confession in the quiet car on the return back to the city, when Michael insisted on driving her home.

It was fitting then, she thought as she stared up at the portrait, the one that had captured that lightning smile. There was nothing she could do to save beautiful, capable, intelligent Amelia, but there was something she could do to help her son. And she would start that process right here, in the place where his mother and father had met.

\---

“You should go back with Bass.” Sam looked at Marcy questioningly. They were stood side by side waiting for the elevator to take them back down to their suites after leaving the Angel brothers a little privacy for their reunion. Michael had finally joined them all and they had less than an hour before Cas needed to leave with Kali for the DA’s office. “If they manage to get those release papers sorted in time for tonight, Dean will need someone there… and Cas won’t make it in time. It will be one less thing for Cas to worry about and you know you won’t be happy until you are hugging the life out of him.”

“Am I that obvious?”

“Jess and I may have discussed it,” she admitted. “I think you should get that Baby of his moved to my workshop, too. Better than rotting in some uncaring storage yard, safer too. Garth will make sure she’s locked up tight. Don’t want that precious girl ending up in salvage by mistake.”

The heavy wood and metal doors slid open to reveal the elevator cabin. In common with the rest of Casa Nova it was beautifully finished, lushly filled planter, highly polished surfaces and deep carpet underfoot. Marcy accepted the proffered arm, her hands tiny in comparison as she patted his. “Just an idea, you understand, it’s all the same to me.”

\---

Cas wasn’t sure what to expect when his older brothers reunited for the first time in years. They had never seemed especially close to each other to him, but he had in fairness only really known them as a child watching the interactions of a near adult and a grown man. So the crushing, engulfing hug, and the stuttered watery apologies took him by surprise. Cas left them to it. He needed to think anyway and he longed to be on his own for a bit, away from distractions and prying eyes, no matter how well meaning they were, so he wandered into the quiet of the now abandoned living room. 

The replies from ‘Meg’ had ceased. He read through the messages again, but there was nothing he hadn’t already second, third and fourth guessed already. He wondered about sending another text. Would it make Raph suspicious? Had he already figured out that Cas knew it wasn’t Meg?. Maybe he should just ring the number and see who answered. Maybe, even if it wasn’t answered, hearing his voice in a message would be enough to provoke Raphael. He had little doubt that his brother was fostering a deep hatred for him. Raphael would not be repentant, he would just be furious that he was being thwarted and it was he, Cas, who was thwarting him. 

“Cas!” Relief packed into that single syllable. Cas turned to see Michael walking quickly across the room. “I spoke to him, Cas. I spoke to Raph,” he confessed without preamble.

“You did what?” Cas hissed. He stared at Michael, eyes wide in alarm. “When? Why?”

“This morning. I told him I have Anna’s files. I told him that I know all about what he’s been trying to do at the firm.”

Spengler stepped into the room and they both stopped talking, aware of the magnitude of the secret between them. He flashed them a little smiling glance and turned back, obviously looking for someone else. 

“Amy has been fielding his calls all morning, Cas.” Michael continued, keeping his voice low. “He knew I wasn’t in Seattle, it was only a matter of time before he realised I’d been to the house. It gives us a chance Cas. We can trade the files for Meg.” 

Cas ran his hands through his hair and clenched them behind his head, elbows wide. Thoughts and feelings scudding across his face as his eyes darted back and forth. Michael put a hand onto his younger brother’s shoulder, willing him to understand. “He didn’t know Adler had them, Cas. He thought they’d been destroyed. I might have been a fool, but I know Raphael a lot better than anyone else still alive… he’s rattled Cas… properly rattled… he’s not sure about Adler now… he’s on the back foot. It’s my only chance to save her Cas. I have to go… I have to try.”

Cas dropped his arms with a heavy sigh. “All right,” he said quietly, lifting his head and holding Michael’s gaze. His decision made. “But you wait for me. You wait for  _ me, _ Michael. You don’t tell the others and you wait for me. We go together or not at all.”


	27. Chapter 27

Sam had been sat in his car since he watched Bass walk into the prison.  He had decided on the journey up here that he would wait here until he was absolutely certain there was no hope for today. After all it made sense if Dean was released to be here, ready. He checked his phone again, willing it to ring or chime. The only sounds in the car were the steady tick of the dashboard clock, the cooling whirr of the engine fan and the occasional brush of the desert breeze against the exterior panels.

A low slung, black sedan pulled up a few spaces over and Sam watched idly as a figure emerged from the driver’s side, mainly hidden from view by the bulk of the vehicle. Head and shoulders bobbed awkwardly along the length of the roof, he was hopping Sam realised. Seconds later the reason became apparent as the man cleared the back of the vehicle, one long pole appeared high above it, reflecting in the glossy shine of the paintwork, he was pulling crutches from the back seat, the clear outline of a plaster cast foot hung mid air behind the rear bumper as he leant against the car for balance.

A flash of light caught Sam’s eye and he glanced back in the direction of the prison buildings, the main door had opened and someone was stood in the doorway. A loud clatter drew his attention back to the neighbouring vehicle. The man was now struggling with a briefcase and files and had dropped one of his crutches. With a sigh, Sam opened his door and unfolded himself from his seat strolling over to help.

\---

“I shouldn’t have let him talk me out of it. I should have gone with him,” Bal complained again, pausing mid-stride as the time ticked past. “The pressure of making the statement and he’s worried sick about Meg… it’s gotta be tearing him apart.”

“If you keep on pacing up and down like this you’re gonna be tearing Nevada an even grander canyon,” Gabe remarked softly. “Kali is with him, Bal. He told you, he was fine. Now why don’t you do what he suggested and try to get some rest.”

“I shouldn’t have listened. I’m a terrible friend. I should be there to support him. He’s had even less sleep than I have, selfish, selfish...”

“You’re not selfish, Bal.” Gabe peered over the file in his hand. He gave Bal an appraising look and with a sigh finally put down the paperwork he had pointlessly been trying to distract himself with. “You’ve always had Cassie’s back. Remember when I first met you?”

Bal laughed, it sounded a little hollow, but it was a laugh. He paused again in his pacing as Gabe provided his own answer. “I arrive at the most refined kindergarten in town expecting to collect my demure, sensible, quiet little baby bro and there he is, four years old hand in hand with this little boy, blonde as he is dark. Cas caked in mud, clothes torn and you sporting a black eye. And that hairy lipped matron, what was her name?...”

“Mrs Glenn.”

“... that was it Mrs Glenn… upper lip quivering like a constipated dog… disapproval screeching from every pore, telling me to…how did she put it?”

“...remove your delinquent little brother and his hoodlum friend from her establishment.” Bal supplied.

Gabe nodded, “Dad was furious. It took all Valentine’s powers of persuasion to get him to agree not to sue. Once he found out what had been going on he wanted to drag Mrs Glenn through the courts for negligence for letting all that name calling and bullying to go on in the first place. He always hated shit like that. Valentine was adamant that we could never get a court to take it seriously. ‘You want to take a playground spat to court. You’ll be a laughing stock, man. Besides which we’re lucky the other kid’s parents just want it to go away.’ So instead Mrs Glenn gets a reprimand, the kindergarten gets a brand spanking new set of playground equipment courtesy of Angel Inc and the little brat has to paint an 'apology'. Then after all that I still had to go find you both a new Kindie, because despite his reinstatement Cassie refused to go back without you.”

Bal nodded. “And my parents lacked the clout or the finances to buy me out of trouble.”

Gabe smiled. “Ah Castiel. It took a lot to push him into it, but he was a headstrong little fuck once he set his mind on something. And he was NOT going to go back to school without Bal. No sir. No way.”

Bal laughed. “You know Cas would have just gone on just ignoring them. It was me who got mad and fought back. Billy wouldn’t leave Cas alone. Called him freak. Hid his lunchbox. Ripped his pictures. And stoic little bastard just let him. But I couldn’t. He tripped Cas on purpose and when I shoved him over he laid into me and that was when Cas finally flipped.”

“What did he actually do?” Gabe asked. “I never did find out exactly…”

“Oh, Cas dragged him off me and then sat on him until he said he was sorry. When Billy finally stopped struggling, Cas calmly got up and took my hand and walked me inside to tell Mrs Glenn. William Dukakis III sure learnt not to mess with the ‘freak’ or his ‘boyfriend’ ever again. You think Cas was covered in mud, Billy Duke looked like the thing from the black lagoon.”

Gabe’s laughter turned a little sad. “S’funny really. Dad was actually quite proud of Cas for the whole thing. He didn’t think much of the Dukakis family. He always hated bigots and bullies and yet there he was, raising the mother of all bastards in his own brood and slowly handing his firm over to him.”

“I never liked Raph,” Bal admitted, “Didn't understand why when I was a kid, just didn't like him on instinct. But it can’t have been easy for you all…”

Gabe huffed at that. “Understatement of the century...It was unbearable, watching all the in fighting. Lucifer and Raphael permanently at odds, Michael plodding stoically on, avoiding taking sides at all costs. The best I could do was keep Cas out of it, play the fool and try to break the mood. But in the end I just couldn’t do it anymore. Dad was already reaching the point where he wouldn’t listen to me anymore. The drugs thing was just the final straw… for him and for me. I loved them all too much to stay and watch them rip each other apart. Knowing that one of them had left that shit in my room to frame me...it was just too much… I left them to it, the great big bag of dicks.” He paused and picked at his fingers. “Now half my family is dead and it’s too late, I can’t go back and fix things. So if anyone here is selfish...it’s me. I left my little brother to deal with all that… alone…Raphael could have killed him… it’s only because he had the luck to run into Dean that he didn’t… so now the only thing I can do now is use every trick at my disposal, do everything in my power to get them both safe and help bring that asshole down.”

\---

It must be nearly time for his evening meal, he wasn’t hungry, but it seemed at least 6 hours since the lunch tray had disappeared back through the hatch. Dean knew he was cruelly fooling himself. In reality it was probably less than an hour since he had heard the telltale scrape and clank. Time was passing unbearably slowly. His muscles ached slightly from a morning spent doing press ups and sit ups and every other kind of exercise he could think of to burn up the unrelenting minutes. He pulled the book from under the folds of the blanket, it really didn’t matter if they saw and ordered him to pass it back through the hatch. Even if he didn’t get to read it, at least the interaction would alleviate the boredom.

He flicked forward to the place he had left off. He found it easily, Twain had left the middle east and was onboard ship heading back towards Europe and Dean hadn’t been reading long when he was struck suddenly by the similarity of his own position to the shipboard routines. Iron bars do not a prison make, he mused. He immersed himself in the sheer ‘Twainess’ of it, chuckling at the subtlety and charm of the sailor’s dialogue. He brushed at a smudge in the middle of the page. Not unusual in a book of this age with its tightly packed typesetting to have ink runs. But then as he turned the page he realised with irritation it was getting worse and beginning to make it difficult to read the text. He flicked forward a few pages to check the extent of the damage, the marks became gradually darker, beginning to take on the appearance of lines of text. Brows furrowing he realised what they were. Whoever had written that post-it had done so in situ. These marks were the resultant leaching of ink into the absorbent pages of the book. He pulled the post-it from the back of the book and flicked backwards and forwards, comparing the blotched and crinkled note with the pages, deciphering the gaps in the message. The sound of the deadbolts sliding open on his cell door had him jumping to his feet, with the last sentence he had made sense of ringing through his mind. Watch out for Alastair…

“Hello Dean. How are you today?”

So much for isolation or for that matter, restraint protocols, Dean thought as the door clanged shut and they stood alone in his cell.

\---

Other vehicles drew into the lot as what Sam presumed were other guards arrived for their shifts. The ebb and flow of people gradually shifting as those leaving began to cross in the other direction like the different layers of seaweed at the change of tide. Eventually the activity stilled and the clock hands measuring his chances of seeing his brother that evening rounded from unlikely towards fat chance.

Reluctantly Sam turned the ignition, put the stick shift into drive and followed the scribbled directions to the little B&B that Bass had suggested as an alternative to the rat pit motel on the highway. “It’s the first night out stop for most of the cons. Everything is cheap in that place, the steak, the drugs and the whores. I stayed at the B&B for a few weeks until I got my apartment, the owner is a bit weird, but she's kind enough.”

\---

Not even the subtle scent of bergamot from the Lady Grey could soothe Crowley or diminish his irritation. He felt the remnants of Dr. Roman’s presence in his office in the same way someone tastes the fur on their tongue after a night’s heavy drinking.

The good doctor had tried to insist that he be allowed access to Dean Winchester to carry out a psychiatric assessment and Crowley had reached the limit of his patience in half the time it normally took him as he tried to deflect the visit.

“I’m afraid Mr Winchester is currently under the remit of our medical team,” Crowley said with a calm he did not feel. “I can not give you access until he has been officially declared fit for examination.”

“I am a qualified doctor, Mr Crowley. I could assess his condition before I begin my court mandated psychiatric…”

Crowley cut him off. “I don’t think that would be appropriate, Dr. Roman, or should I call you Dick. It is up to the prison physician to decide when and if prisoners are…”

“Is it possible for him to check Mr Winchester’s state of health as a matter of urgency? I only have a 24 hour window in which to make this assessment, without impinging on my other professional duties.”

“Well that is fortunate,” Crowley had smiled graciously, “Our physician will be in a position to see Mr WInchester tomorrow. If you would like to call tomorrow lunchtime I will be able to let you know whether it’s worth you coming back tomorrow afternoon.”

“In that case, perhaps you could provide me with the files and reports requested. I can review those this evening, prior to my examination tomorrow.”

Back and forth they had battled. Much to his chagrin, Crowley could think of no reason to delay handing over the files. He’d called Missy. “I’m a little behind with my filing, _sir_ ,” OK, he was paying attention, “but I have checked my tray for anything important that might be missing from the file.” Bless whichever deities had sent him Missy. He’d stake his life on the notes on the skirmish between Dean and Benny not sitting in that file.

With the obvious rudeness that only a very polite Brit can carry off, Crowley had dismissed the oily Dr Roman. Missy personally took him all the way out to his car, carrying his briefcase as he clumped along on his crutches. She’d returned fifteen minutes later with the tea tray, setting it down to softly close the window Crowley had opened to clear the air. And thus they sat quietly, the scent of Bergamot replacing the choke of aftershave, sipping at the aromatic, delicate tea sweetened with a dash of clover honey. “Well,” she commented quietly, “he was more smarm than charm.”

Crowley nodded. “The paperwork?”

“Shredded. While you were talking.” She smiled at Crowley’s look of surprise. “It’s not like you had any intention of ever completing it.”

He shrugged the truth of it. “Anything else?”

“He asked whether I had any recommendations on where he should stay…” She hid her smile behind her tea cup, eyes wide and obscenely innocent, as the crowd of Shirley Temple curls quivered with the movement. “I gave him directions to the motel on the highway...”

Crowley’s laughter could be heard all the way down the corridor.

\---

If he and Dean ever met up on the outside after this whole nightmare mess was sorted out, the first thing Benny was going to do was sit him down and teach him Morse code. Three hours of gut churning anxiety when all he got back was a tapped rhythm .Six feet away and completely unable to communicate with the kid. All the while worrying that the shift change was gonna bring trouble their way. Bass had told him that Crowley was adamant that neither he nor Alastair was allowed on Iso, but if Bass could circumvent Crowley’s dictat, Alastair sure as hell would be able to. And Benny was almost certain now that it was Alastair who was the danger.

At least lady luck was on his side with the guard duty. Just about the only guard stupid and bribable enough to let him actually pass messages in isolation was on the night roster. He’d looked puzzled when Benny asked for post-it notes, a sharpie and the book from his library cart, but he’d complied nonetheless. It had cost Benny a pretty fortune to get him to slide the book into Dean’s cell during the night. Bass had come through with the sabotage of the cameras. They’d been fixed this morning he noticed. All he could do now was sit and wait. He was confident that Alastair would make his move at some point, he just had to hope that Dean would stay out of it or better still be long gone by that point.

\---

Bass had strolled quietly in the direction of the Isolation Wing. Collecting his radio and his equipment at each stage, listening to the claustrophobia inducing clangs and clunks of locks as he passed through each detector and level of security, the feeling of descending ever deeper into hell occurring to him yet again. He'd waited until Eli had gone for one of his ever frequent toilet breaks before quietly letting himself into Dean’s cell. “Hello Dean. How are you today?” The look of surprise flashed quickly over Winchester’s features before settling into a pursed lip appraisal.

There was no aggression there, just wariness. A coiled readiness, masked by a deliberately relaxed stance. “Well hello, Bass. Come to give me another vampire kiss or you actually gonna just talk to me this time?”

\---

Eli returned from his toilet break to find Bass smiling at him benignly from behind the array of security monitors, sipping a coffee. He settled next to him and glanced at the monitors. Both of the prisoners looked surprisingly relaxed for men in isolation, normally prisoners in here were either mice or tigers. These two looked so relaxed they could almost be in a poolside cabana rather than a jail cell. He himself was a naturally lazy man, so he liked to think it would be his modus operandi too. The phone rang and the pair stared at it, Bass closed his spare hand over his mug and nodded towards it, with a sigh Eli relented and picked it up.

“You what? You’re shitting me…. Yeah… Yeah… well, OK… but shit… I’m s’posed to finish in twenty… no… well, no… I guess, we’ll have to. Too late for anything else now… yeah… you take care now.”

Bass’ eyes, brown as his coffee, were pools of liquid innocence over the rim of his mug, eyebrows raised in question.

“One down on the night shift. Thompson's got food poisoning.” He looked at Bass expectantly. Bass blinked back, mouth still hidden behind his mug. “Well shit, boy, there’s a game on tonight…”

Slowly Bass put his mug down. “I suppose I could stay, cover for you. I know you’re the on call, but heck… I don’t even like sports.”

“Wouldya?”

Bass nodded slowly, once more lifting his mug to his lips.

“Well, I ain’t gonna knock you back on an offer like that… don’t much like working with Alastair anyways. You alright, Bass?” He patted the younger man heavily on his back as he choked on his coffee.

\---

The B&B was every bit as charming as Bass had suggested, the entrance hall was more like a hotel, panelled, spotted with real pot plants and pictures, sunlight flooding through a stained glass panel next to the front entrance. The woman on the desk who introduced herself as Becky, had scanned Sam from toe to mahogany locks and promptly changed the room number on her ledger. The scratching sound of metal nib on the parchment like paper somehow completing the sense of taking a step back in time.

When he unlocked and opened his door Sam discovered, that apparently, his height entitled him to a quiet room with a king size bed overlooking the high walled garden. Double doors opened onto a small balconette, soft voile deflecting the bright sunlight into something softer and more soothing. He kicked off his shoes without untying them and flopped onto the bed. He had two hours until he needed to go downstairs to eat and he’d already set his phone alarm. He was asleep before the mattress stopped bouncing under his weight.

\---

Jody looked up from the spread of papers and maps and statements. She stared at Henrikson with something bordering on admiration. “How long did it take you to pull this together?”

“I’ve been working on it since… since Winner.” He looked away for a moment.

“That’s only a few days, Lance. This case was… it’s had teams… poring over it, for months...this is…to make this kind of progress... it's exceptional...”

“I need your help to finish it, to piece the final bits, you know this case backwards, Mills… Fresh eyes took me this far, I need intimate knowledge to finish the job…”

“I get that. And, of course, you know I’d do anything for those boys, but you... it's not like you don’t even know them…”

“You’re wondering why.” He confirmed her unspoken question. “I can’t touch the Angel case. I go near it… well… my career as an agent is already probably over, but I might even screw up the case… the last thing we need is his defence portraying me as some crazed vengeful agent. I need something to do, I quietly sit out my suspension, do nothing for weeks on end, I'm gonna go crazy. This I can do. If I can’t take that bastard down, I can at least do something to get some good out of this.” He took a slug of coffee and Jody silently re-filled his mug letting him talk. “Lomax was a good agent, Jody, more than that... hell, he was a good man. He didn’t deserve… Joe and I, we talked quite a bit. The agency was more than just a job for him, it was something he had wanted to do before he knew what an agent was and he was prepared to lose it all, his lifelong dream, just because it was the right thing to do. It cost him his life."

Jody nodded and pulled a quick sympathetic smile. She set the coffee jug down and patted his shoulder. He looked at her, the hint of moisture in his eyes, matching the slight hitch in his voice. He cleared his throat and drank some more coffee. "That kind of integrity… it needs a legacy.”

\---

The insistent trill of his phone came too early, but Sam Winchester had spent years surviving on snatched sleep when he was younger and the past few weeks living on the brutal regime of a baby’s clock. In short he was used to power napping. With a sigh he sat up and scrolled through his texts. The message from Gabe was short and to the point. The orders for Dean’s release were signed. Effective immediate, all charges were dropped and his brother was a free man. His mobile phone was down as first contact point, he would be getting a call in the morning to confirm what time he should collect him. Feeling lighter than he had in weeks he shoved his feet back into his shoes and headed down the stairs.

He was just turning the corner towards the dining room when he spotted a pair of crutches leaning up the wall, the metal grips peaking out from behind the glossy dark green leaves of some kind of tropical plant.  He froze, his body reflecting his mind’s indecision. He had specifically avoided Becky’s questions about the reasons for his stay and wasn’t sure what this man’s connection with the prison was. He was no ordinary visitor, going in there with files and a briefcase, but he might just be some con’s lawyer. Sam had learnt to be thorough, life could be cruel if you didn’t pay attention to details.  Could he be something to do with Raphael? Cas had been adamant that his brother was trying to get to Dean... Maybe he could strike up a conversation over dinner, but he had signed in here under his own name... there was no way he would be able to hide who he was in such a small place... The ledger... if he could sneak a look at the ledger, get the name, he could call the team, they would be able to trace this guy and find out if he was anyone to worry about. He backtracked softly and looked down at the book. He used the ribbon to flick it to the current page. He scanned the entries… Winchester… Anderson...and then two spaces below his own name… dammit… Roman. Dr Richard Roman.  He flicked the book shut. Shit.

He turned sharply intent on getting back upstairs so he could call Gabe and bumped square into Becky, who was carrying a plate of food from the kitchen in the direction of the dining room. With an elegant twist of her wrist she salvaged the platter, waving his apologies aside with her other hand. “No harm done, Sam, half my own fault anyway. Are you coming into dinner?” Her enthusiasm seemed a little odd.

“Actually I was, but I think I’m...er… well I think the journey is catching up with me." 

She smiled broadly and nodded sympathetically.

"Maybe I should just... er... get an early night," Sam murmured, slightly puzzled at the wild look in her over bright eyes.

She dropped her voice to a hushed whisper and lent towards him. “I don’t normally like guests to eat in their room, but how about I make you something light. Soup, or sandwiches." Her body language became even more conspiratorial. "I’ll bring it up to you.” She gave him a heavy wink and made off in the direction of the dining room before he could protest.

 


	28. Chapter 28

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mea culpa, I am the slow coach from hell. Real life and a big bang blasted my neat writing schedule out of the window along with my best intentions, but I'm on it again now. We're in the closing stages. For any of you who've stuck it out this long, hurrah and thanks. To my small but much loved little band of cheerleaders... I couldn't do it without your encouragement and you're wonderful. x

Amy Weismuller waited patiently for her visitors, the reception staff, who had been wondering what high profile visitor was due, eyed the two casually dressed youngsters with extreme curiosity, despite being far too professional to wonder aloud why these were being greeted in such a way by one of the senior executive’s PA no less. Amy lead them to Chuck’s study. She closed the door and ushered the two to sit down. “I’ve ordered you a light meal, I figured you’d be hungry after the journey down. I’ll be back to fetch you soon. I’ve just got to go and clear out the techs so we can work in peace."

\---

Charlie was pretty convinced that the heaven-sent or at the very least Angel provided Kasia was almost as interested as she herself was. At least if the amount of eye contact and the number of oh, so delicate splashes of shy smiles were anything to go by. But they had work to do and she returned her impressive intellect back to it. As Amy returned, the late May sunshine dwindled towards dusk and they sat and discussed the mammoth task ahead.

It was nearly half six when Amy suggested they head down to the “Hub”. The huge elevator dropped down and down, a seemingly neverending descent. Charlie half-expected to find herself in a nether realm, but the corridor beyond the smooth slide of the heavy doors was disappointingly plush. She excused herself when she saw the neatly printed WC, complete with embossed braille beside a heavy oak panelled door. “Too many coffees,” she mumbled.

Amy gave her a nod. “Just keep following this corridor when you're done, you can’t miss it.”

By the time she joined them Amy and Kasia were busy clearing a massive lighting shelf that ran all along one wall of a room that could easily have taken the entire floor of her block, never mind her own, relatively spacious apartment.

“What time will the tech guys be in again?” Kasia was asking Amy, checking her watch. Their task was huge and it was already nearing 7 o’clock

“I gave marketing the day off, tomorrow.” Amy chuckled.

“The whole of marketing?!”

“Yup,” Amy gave a surprisingly girlish little giggle. “Every last man, woman and intern… Well, technically Michael gave them the day off, but I always have been able to forge his signature.” She grinned. “We have the entire section to ourselves all night and tomorrow if we need it.”

Kasia gave a low impressed whistle. “You sly old dog,” she mumbled, pulling her fist up for Amy to bump. She turned and, seeing Charlie, winked.

But Charlie was lost in her own unexpected bliss. She stared at the range of machines and the two multimedia walls and the interactive tables and felt something close to a shimmer of arousal. It was quite simply, the most well-equipped comms room she had ever seen. Lights set high in the ceiling behind a diffusing screen gave the impression of daylight and sample prints that Amy and Kasia were dumping in a scattered pile on a cutting table were as glossy and perfect as high-end photographic prints, colour from edge to edge. The array of paper finishes available for printing, which were stacked in well-stocked wire trays gave her goosebumps. She was suddenly aware she was gaping and shut her mouth with a snap, her cheeks pulling up into a ridiculous smile. Then a small hand slipped into her own and nothing else in the room could compare.

\---

Amy spotted the shy little smile that passed between the two women and turned her head away, allowing herself a small smile of her own. They were sweet together and her heart both ached and gave a little leap. She liked to think that her best friend from all those years ago would approve that the very work to save her son and bring down the man who had orchestrated so much destruction on those she had loved would bring a little accidental, incidental happiness into being.

But now it was time to get down to work. She cleared her throat and brought her hands together. “Where do we start, Charlie? We’re yours to direct.”

The red-head pushed up the sleeves of her jersey top, flicked them both with an impressively wide smile and cracked her knuckles. Within mere moments they were gazing upon the overlarge image of Spengler’s nose on one of the wall screens. A succession of document links, spiraling out along the projection wall, as she clicked them open with impressive speed. By the time Spengler had settled back into his seat, the assembled group in the offices in Vegas were circling items at their end, marking them up as Appendices and highlighting relevant items.

\---

“So he’s there? At your hotel? Are you sure it’s him?”

“Aw come on, Gabe. How many Dr. Dick Romans can there be in this world? It would be a hell of a coincidence if it was just some innocent passing PhD, don’t you think?” Sam was fairly certain Gabe’s eyebrows would be demonstrating another feat of semaphore if he could actually see them, but as he couldn’t and as Gabe was showing no sign of continuing he guessed he’d made his point. They’d already decided there was no way to know or find out specifically what Roman was doing at the jail. Bass had sent them a message to say Dean was OK, still in ISO and that he was taking up his duties, so whatever Roman’s mission had been, it appeared he had not got to Dean already and Bass was on hand to protect him during the night. There was nothing else they could do.

There was a gentle tap at the door. “Hang on a sec, Gabe. I think I’m about to get room service.”

He ignored the undoubtedly inappropriate remark from the other end and set his phone down. Becky stood just on the threshold with a beautifully laid tray, complete with a neatly folded napkin in the shape of a lotus flower, a towering pile of sandwich and a bowl of steaming soup.

“I wasn’t sure what you’d want,” she began, eyes rolling from his torso to his face as if she wasn’t quite sure where to rest them. Sam felt suddenly very self-conscious in his T-shirt and crossed his arms over his chest, stepping back behind the club-footed dressing table chair with its ornate back.

She set the tray down on the dressing table with a clink of cutlery and crockery. “Anything else you need, you just give me a little tinkle.”

Sam cleared his throat, “Thank you. It’s very kind.”

“Not at all...as I said… it’s not a normal service… so obviously if you could not mention to the other guests…you know at Breakfast or… later,” her voice lilted upwards so that it was almost a question.

“I doubt I’ll actually see any of them,” Sam offered, thinking about the need to avoid Roman. “I suspect I’ll miss breakfast tomorrow, as I said I…” Becky’s eyes widened. “Oh, I could always bring it up to your room for you…”

“Oh, no. I wasn’t…”

“Honestly it would be no trouble.”

Sam swallowed and shook his head. “I… erm… will probably snag the extra hour or so to sleep, you know… after the journey I’m a bit stiff,” her eyes flared even wider, “from all the travel.” Oh God, this was not going well. “So, thank you… for the tray… it all looks lovely… I’m going to eat and then grab a shower for an early night… and I promise I won’t mention it to the other guests… really it’s very kind…” Sam rarely used his height and bulk to force anything, but he had found that when he moved into someone’s space they instinctively backed away.

Becky apparently was made of sterner stuff. Her nose hovered mere inches from his chest. Oh hell, did she really just lick her lips?

He was saved by the jangling of the service bell drifting up the stairs and along the hallway. A flicker of annoyance flashed across Becky’s upturned face before she gave him a brilliant smile and excused herself.

With a sigh of relief, Sam softly closed the door and firmly turned the key in the lock, dropping it onto the bedside table as an afterthought.

“Smooth,” Gabe’s chuckle crackled from the phone speaker. “Don’t worry Sam, your secret’s safe with me!”

Sam bit back his response. “How’s Cas doing?” he asked, changing the subject completely.

Gabe sighed. “Tired. Quiet. He took himself off to bed early. Bal offered to stay with him. So did I, but I think he wanted some downtime.” Gabe sounded tired himself. In truth they all were. “Michael’s turned in, too. Kali is at the offices working through the evidence files ready to give them to the DA. Strictly speaking, we should have handed them over to the FBI, but with Henriksen out of the picture we don’t know how high, if he has it at all, Raph’s influence might go. There’s not much any of the rest of us can do except try and get some sleep.”

“True enough.” Sam yawned. The mention of sleep sounded appealing. He had already said goodnight to Jess, hearing Marcy crooning to JD in the background. “I’m heading back down to the jail for 10am tomorrow, first releases are always at around 11 according to Bass and I’m kind of assuming he’ll be one of the first.”

“Uhuh. Can’t imagine they wouldn’t want him off their hands soon as.”

“I must admit, I’ll be a lot happier once he’s sat next to me in the car. Although, I suspect the first thing he’ll wanna do is ring Cas.”

“They do got it bad,” Gabe drawled, his amusement evident in his voice. “It’s gonna be hell being trapped in their own little Disney movie!”

Sam laughed. “Ah, but which one is the princess?”

“I guess Cassie would make a fine Snow White!”

“Wouldn’t that make you Dopey?”

“It beats being Rapunzel and her tower’s secret love child...”

“That’s lame, even for you Gabe.”

“Well, like I said, we’re all tired.” He yawned himself. It was barely 8 o’clock. “Ring if you need anything, I’ll have the phone with me.”

“Hopefully the next time we speak it’ll be so I can give you an eta… Well, g’night Gabe… and Gabe?”

“Yeah.”

“Thanks. For all of this. For everything that you’ve done.”

“Same to you kiddo, now go… sleep… before you crash to the ground like a giant bloody redwood.”

Sam huffed another laugh, setting the alarm on his phone. He ambled into the en-suite intent on a quick shower before he settled himself back on the glorious soft king size bed.

\---

Dean was trying to sleep, he really was, but he couldn’t stop his mind cycling through everything. He closed his eyes and forced himself to relax.

He knows the sooner he sleeps the sooner tomorrow will come. There’s nothing to be done, not by him anyway and Cas is safe. He’s in Vegas, surrounded by friends and the right kind of family.

Bass has met him, seen him, spoken to him.

_“I thought he was going to reach across the table and throttle me with his bare hands.” In his mind’s eye, Dean could see the big hooded eyes scooping up to meet his own as Bass stuttered an apology for the taser. It was not hard to imagine the look of determined disapproval on Cas face. He had seen it before when Cas brandished the pool cue. Not that Bass didn’t deserve a little approbation._

He gives a little smile at the thought of it. And yawns, he truly has nothing to worry about for one seemingly endless night, so why the hell can’t he just relax into oblivion for a few hours. Tomorrow he will hug Sam, meet his nephew, he will endure (dammit be honest, he will enjoy) Marcy clucking over him like a hen mothering a particularly troublesome chick…

... and he will see Cas… he will finally be with Cas again…

He thinks about Benny, lying just a few feet away. Fourteen years. He has been apart from Cas for a few weeks. How the hell did they cope for fourteen years? He’s damn well gonna make sure that Benny is safely back in Andrea’s arms just as soon as humanly possible. The risks he has been taking and will be continuing to take along with Bass… Jesus, they would break most men. And while he isn’t too happy about the fact they hadn’t just taken him into their confidence instead of electrocuting him, he can at least understand.

There’s a dull click and he knows even before he opens his eyes and blinks at the darkness that his cell light has just been extinguished.

He pulls the thin blanket tighter over his shoulder and rolls his back towards the wall. The thin rubber mattress does little to stop the press of the hard bench into his hip, but he’s slept in and on much worse. He wills himself to just let go and drift into sleep.

Maybe tomorrow night when he stretches out his arms he will find a warm body lying beside him. And when he breathes in, instead of metal and concrete dust, he will smell the hint of vanilla from Cas’ favourite shampoo and shower gel. They haven’t exactly talked about the future… not the future beyond getting Cas somewhere safe anyway. He has nothing to offer. He suddenly feels even colder, heavy and dull… He certainly won’t fit within the heady circles that Cas is used to. It hasn’t mattered up until now. When they were on the run, he had skills that could keep Cas safe, but if Spengler is to be believed Raphael Angel is going down…

_“We are making progress, Dean… in the background. If just one person makes a statement, or one piece of concrete evidence comes forward, the whole thing will tumble, it’s like dominoes.”_

_“Dominoes?” Dean had gritted out the word between clenched teeth, his fists tightening._

_“Yeah, you know, when you start them all up end to end in a big long row and…”_

_“I understood the analogy, Harry. I’m just tired and pissed, and I want Cas safe. And you don’t seem particularly sure that he is.”_

But things have moved on and now Cas _is_ safe. Safe in Vegas. With Gabe. And Marcy. And everything is finally falling into place. And if Raphael Angel is no longer a threat that will mean that Cas can return to something like his old life. A life with no place for a 27-year-old loser with no prospects, no money and next to nothing to offer.

On and on his thoughts cycle. Until he shakes himself. This is pointless, fruitless. Stop it. All he has to do is fall asleep and then it will be just a few hours until he can confirm what he has been told with his own eyes. He can see Cas. Alive. Safe and well.

But then what? the traitorous inner voice pipes up again. He shivers. The blanket is coarse and harsh where he grips it in his clenched fists. He forces himself to relax. It’s simple, he tells himself. Once this is all over, he can make sure that Cas returns to the life he deserves. Happy, safe and secure. That is what.

Tomorrow he will walk from here a free man: Free to wear his own clothes. Free to see his friends and family. Free to hold his new nephew and tease his brother. Free to listen to his own music. Free to return to the road. His heart sinks a little. He tells himself it is the thought of the mess the accident made of Baby. Heaven knows exactly what state she is in, he was too busy with Cas to even look. It will probably take him a good few weeks of solid work to even get her back on the road, let alone sleek and beautiful as she deserves to be. He’s lying to himself, of course, it’s not the state of his Baby that taints thoughts of returning to the road. Still, he imagines the wind in his hair, his arm on the open window sill, hand resting loosely on the wheel, music and the rush of the wind as the Impala powers along the myriad highways and byways…

...the image of Cas grinning at him when he forgot he was not alone and began belting out the lyrics, semi-falsetto with the female singer, to a track on the radio rises unbidden in his mind. He smiles softly humming the song to himself as the sensation of sinking into sleep, despite the hardness of the bunk, begins to flow. It’s no good trying to hide from it. It all comes back to Cas. Every thought. Everything. Then finally, finally he sleeps.

\---

The en-suite was a pea-souper of steam by the time Sam had finally wrapped himself in an impressively large and excessively fluffy bath towel. He dried his neck and shoulders with a separate towel and pulled the shower cap away letting his hair fall free. He chuckled to himself at just what his brother would have to say on the subject, but he hated sleeping with wet hair, preferring to wash it in the morning, usually after a run, another thing his brother teased him about.

He brushed his teeth. The moisture between his hand and the mirror squeaking like a movie sound effect as he wiped it temporarily clear to check his reflection. He would shave in the morning. He was beat. He heard the subtlest of scraping noises and suddenly felt uneasy. He paused, not quite sure what had made him freeze. He listened carefully and then heard it again, followed by the unmistakable sound of a door opening gently. Maybe it was the room next door, hotels could play funny tricks on your ears… but then there was a slight creak of a floorboard and there was no doubt in Sam’s mind that someone was creeping about in his room. He glanced down and noticed that he had not locked the bathroom door. There had seemed little need when he knew his main room was locked and he was alone. He crept towards it, hovering between sliding home the little bolt and throwing open the door to challenge the intruder.


	29. Chapter 29

Could it be Roman? Maybe he had read the register. No, of course not. Roman is on crutches. Gripping his towel at his waist Sam threw open the door and then stared in surprise at the figure silhouetted by the light from the doorway to his hotel room. “Becky?” he mumbled in disbelief.

She seemed utterly unfazed at being caught sneaking into his hotel room, her eyes roved over him and his hands had tightened the towel around his waist before he even registered what he was doing. “I thought I’d fetch your tray. If you’ve finished with it?”

He nodded dumbly. The flimsiness of the excuse rendering him momentarily speechless.

“Is there anything else I could give you?” Her eyes were on the move again and Sam wasn’t sure whether it worse to track their movements or look away so he didn’t feel quite so much like a slab of prime sirloin. He decided it was better to keep his eye on her, lest she try to wrangle him to the ground or scale him like an exuberant chimp. She had continued to talk and he wasn’t sure what she had offered to do, but the sentence finished with, “...you know to help you relax and get to sleep?” Her voice was so casual. Sam could scarce believe it. The minute this crazy woman left he was going to lock the door and jam the key in it just in case she decided to add somnophilia to her repertoire of stalker behaviour. He shook his head, again.

“No, I’ll be fine, the shower was quite relaxing enough.”

She opened her mouth to speak, but Sam really did not want to hear anymore. “Goodnight then, Becky. I’m sure you must have other guests to...erm” he winced at his sudden lack of words.

With a look of infinite regret and a further appraising, lingering eye ramble over what she could see of him, she mumbled. “Goodnight then, Sam. If you’re sure there’s nothing else you need.”

“Quite sure.” He said firmly, relinquishing the death grip on his towel with one arm so he could gesture her towards the door.

He closed it firmly behind her and grabbed the key from the bedside cabinet, locking the door and then half twisting it, so that it lodged in the keyhole. He paused, staring at the back of the door for a moment. Then, for good measure, he pulled the dressing room chair over wedging it under the door handle. He reset his alarm for an hour later. He would definitely be ‘out’ for breakfast. With one last satisfied look at his barricaded door, he settled back with a sigh onto his bed, safe in the knowledge that no-one else was going to be entering his room uninvited.

\---

Bass needed to pee. Badly.

He had needed to pee for at least the last half hour.

His bladder was beginning to sting with the effort of denying himself.

He tipped his head forward as if he were intent on the paperwork he was completing, all the while watching Alastair in a manner he hoped had gone unnoticed. The bastard hadn’t moved since he arrived on shift. He was perched on his computer chair, eyes fixed on the monitors as the main screen slid through a slide show. Two views of each cell, three views of the main corridor, including their own little cameo, and a view of the air block like entrance. The smaller sketch portraits of each view hung around the outside. Allegedly so that the peripheral eye would pick up abnormal movement even as you watched the main screen. Bass knew in truth that some guards wouldn’t notice a tap dancing flamingo if it paradiddled across the screen. Alastair, he suspected, missed nothing.

He twisted in his chair awkwardly and pressed the heel of his hand into his thigh trying to distract himself from the increasing pressure. He could not leave Alastair here alone for even one second.

“I think I’ll grab a coffee. You want one?” He was so absorbed with his troublesome bladder that he physically jumped when Alastair spoke. Crap. He damn nearly, literally, wet himself.

He looked up all wide innocent eyes and guileless expression, nodding. No guard was supposed to be left alone for more than five minutes and based on previous experience, he reckoned he would have three minutes 45 seconds. 15 seconds to let Alastair get out of earshot, three minutes to sprint, urinate and dart back, with a handsome safety margin of 30 seconds. Easy. He would be sat calmly watching the monitors when Alastair returned. Strictly speaking it was a dismissible offence to leave the monitors untended, but in practice the chances that anyone would playback the footage and find out was remote in the extreme. Besides, with any luck in a week or two he would be out of here anyway.

Alastair stood up and Bass rolled his chair across the gap from the other side of the huge bench desk. He didn’t trust himself to stand up, until he was sure he was well on the way to the kitchen just outside ISO. He watched Alastair disappear along the corridor in the monitor and slip through the first airlock door, with something approaching the mid-section sprint of Usain Bolt he threw himself along the corridor in the opposite direction and into the small guards cubicle.

He managed to strangle off the gasp of relief as he ripped open his fly and finally relaxed. He stared at himself in the metal mirror splashback, he was at 89 Mississippi when his flow ceased. Perfect. He had time to rinse his hands. With a final quick sweep of an eyebrow with the damp pad of his thumb, he turned to leave the room. His first action when the door didn’t open as he pushed was to think himself an idiot for not unlocking the door. His second was a panicked yanking at the handle when it refused to slide free. His third was a surge of relief as the lock slid open, only to have the door remain stubbornly resistant as he struggled to exit the room.

Down the hall he heard the tell tale ring of one of the alarm sensors and he was plunged into darkness. Remotely located they sometimes lost the grid, with a whirr and a succession of clicks the emergency lighting kicked in and the bathroom door gave under his hands. He darted back along the now much duller corridor. To his immense relief, Alastair did not appear to have made it back, presumably also delayed by the power outage.

He settled back onto his chair. The monitor images were rebooting, one by one. In Cell C, Benny’s sleeping figure emerged first, then Bass saw his own hunched figure, moments later the airlock appeared, but it was the next image that registered with a juddering shock. In Cell A, the bunk was empty. Bass hit the light override, feeling the initial surge of alarm soar into full blown panic. It was at a full six minutes since he had watched Alastair leave the wing, he slid his electronic keycard into the side of his keyboard and typed the code with shaking fingers. The deadbolts to both cells slid back with a thunk, even while he was dodging back through the security tapes of the last few minutes.

Benny appeared bleary eyed and curious at the door to his cell, “What the hell, Bass?” His attention flitted back to the image on his screen as a flicker of movement caught his eye. He watched the Alastair of 7 minutes ago raise his head from the computer monitor to offer him coffee. He watched him head out towards the exit lock door and swipe his way out. Benny glanced around, spotting the open doors to the other cells, “Where’s Dean?" Irritated by the lack of response he walked to look over Aaron’s shoulder.

They both saw Bass dash from his stool along the corridor. Alastair was messing with something just off camera. Then instead of disappearing right towards the officer’s kitchenette, he came back through the outer and then the inner door. He strode with purpose towards the monitor desk, setting something on the surface of it, before he fiddled with the computer. He crept in the direction of the restroom, briefly messing with the handle before walking back nonchalantly towards door C, sliding his swipe down the manual override, the door swung open and then the image on the monitor slid to black. Aaron swapped between the various angles and images. Frustratingly Alastair was stood between the cameras so that his actions were hard to make out. He seemed to be raising one arm, but the worst image, the most disturbing image was the angle across the cell. Dean could be seen sitting up on his bunk, raising his arms slowly over his head and sliding his feet to the ground. The blackout was abruptly short on the video footage and in the next shot, Dean, and Alastair, were gone.

\---

It was a little after 4 am when Gabe’s phone rang, he answered it without really being fully awake. Smiling without opening his eyes, when he heard Kali’s voice. She sounded tired and he ached a little that she was not next to him warm and comfortable in their shared drowsiness.

“How’s it going babe?” he asked her.

“We’re ahead of ourselves, at this rate we should have a dossier to present to the DA by the day after tomorrow. Might even make close of business tomorrow.”

“S’good,” he slurred slightly and shook his head to clear the fug of sleep.

“I’m going to offer all three of these women a job. They’re making my team look like a bunch of layabouts.” This Gabe seriously doubted. Kali recruited only the best. She didn’t have to chase after them. She had the hottest prospects in all fields throwing themselves at her feet for the opportunity. Gabe could relate. He often felt like that around her. “Hm, well you know, I always back your decisions…”

“And I yours, even the dumb ones,” her voice lilted with a little tinge of humour.

He smirked and pinched scrubbed thumb and finger into his eyelids, blinking and squinting to clear the blur. Initially confused that her smiling face was not gracing his phone screen, the number she was calling from unassigned in his phone. “How come you’re not ringing me from your own cell?”

“That’s mainly why I’m ringing,” she sounded, for once, a little sheepish. “I think I left it in my car, and I got Gregory to drive me this evening because I was so tired.”

“You want me to go check.” It was a statement, not a question. She would be in agony, not knowing for sure. Her phone was her life in electronic format.

“Uhuh. I parked it in the usual spot.” She sounded relieved. The Lexus GX was one of his wife’s few extravagances.

“I’ll ring you from it as soon as I have it, OK?”

“I love you,” she said softly.

“Only cos I’m willing to crawl through hot coals for you…”

“Gabe," her disparaging tone, made him shiver. That was all it ever took. Just his name. In that vaguely mocking tone and he was putty in her hands. "It’s a ride in an elevator, not a Siberian death march.”

\---

As Dean woke with a start, Alastair had offered him two choices, put his hands up and leave his cell under his own steam, or be tased again and dragged out. He had until the lights went out to make his choice. Once the darkness hit, if he was still sat in his bunk, Alastair promised to ‘light him up like an iddy-biddy human Christmas Tree.’

Reluctantly, Dean got up and moved as he was directed. True to Alastair’s promise the lights died, the sudden silence as the absence of energy dropped everything emphasised just how noisy this building was. A piercing light dazzled him, the torch function on the taser, he glanced down and the pin point centre of the light was just over his heart. Dim recollections of Ephraim commenting that at least the incompetent prat hadn’t hit him directly over the heart flashed through his memory, he could guess why that wasn’t a good idea, but he wasn’t going to risk finding out.

A disembodied voice in the darkness, Alastair ordered Dean to walk ahead of him along the corridor and out of the ISO unit. Dean was thinking hard. The doors were too heavy, especially with the additional resistance of the electric motors dampening their movements... no point even trying to use one to slam into Alastair. His own shadow stretched ahead of him across the bare concrete floors, flicking occasionally up a vertical surface, equally bare. He was in a prison for fucks sake, he scolded himself, what did he expect, a handily abandoned tool set? Items to throw in the face or use as a distraction were pretty scarce by design. He felt the press of the bookmark against his elbow where he had secreted it in his sleeve, but he wasn’t entirely sure what he could do with it. “Stop and turn around.” Alastair’s voice, creepy, sibilant and slithering made his skin crawl.

Ping, ping, ping, the various lighting circuits came back online, muted, greenish in hue. Emergency back-up. He turned slowly, his arms still raised above his head, only just in time catching the flashing arc of something metallic coming towards him, his vision still a dance of light echoes from staring into the bright torch of the taser. He caught the object awkwardly, one handed, his other hand acting as a cup to catch the slide of the bookmark as he dropped his arms. His fingers closed over a circle of cold metal. “One wrist, and then turn your back.”

“This individual attention is all very flattering Alastair, but what exactly are you planning to do?” He kept his stance non-threatening, complying slowly with the instructions. “There ain’t much of this place not covered by cameras and I’m pretty certain this ain’t a sanctioned recreational activity.”

Alastair ignored him, other than a curl of his lip, “I said turn your back, arms behind you.” He flicked the tazer, “or maybe I’ll find an even more painful place for this to land. I told you, on your own legs or dragged, but I'd prefer not to have to break a sweat.”

Dean swallowed and turned slowly, fists clenched, arms back. "Don't sell yourself short," he said softly, "You're plenty sweaty, I can smell you from here."

“Don't try and distract me with juvenile insults, unclench your fists and relax them wrists,” Alastair sneered. “I weren’t born yesterday, kid.”

Dipping his head forward slightly as he complied, Dean snapped his head back even as the bookmark slid over his outstretched fingers and clattered to the ground. The crunching contact told him that Alastair had discounted it as no threat and raised his head back to Dean, just in time to meet the solid back of his skull. The contact was jarring, but he managed to spin and raise his knee snagging a second thudding impact to the man’s face. He was sprinting away before Alastair hit the ground, mind racing ahead of him along the limited map of corridors in his mind. There was no point returning to ISO, it was a dead end, and he had no idea whether Bass, or indeed Benny, were incapacitated or not. He skidded to a halt just round a bend and looked around, mind racing still. The air-conditioning ducts might provide crawl space, but the grills into any place a prisoner might venture were too small and too well fastened. Prison. Dumbass.

He glanced up to the ceiling, a long expanse of concreted dotted with surveillance points, the same dark bug eyes as in the ISO cells. No handy suspended ceiling, just strong enough to take his weight. Er, hello, PRISON! He needed a place to hide until morning. He was too preoccupied with his own sarcastic little inner voice, to take in what was incongruous about those familiar bug eyes.

They were completely dark.


	30. Chapter 30

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> warnings at end

Kali’s keys were not on the hook. Gabe scanned the neatly labelled board of keys to see if they were just misplaced, but there was no sign of the familiar cheesy heart shaped fob he had bought her in a scabby little boutique gift shop on their honeymoon. So shoot him, he was a cheesy romance kind of guy.

Maybe Kali had let Gregory drive it, or just taken the keys with her changing her mind at the last minute to be chauffeured to the office. With a sigh Gabe pulled open the drawer of the hall stand and fumbled around until he found his own spares for her car. He stumbled out of the door to the corridor towards the private elevator. It pinged it’s little welcome immediately, the car already at his floor and the doors slid open. They were half-way down when his bleary eyes finally focussed on his reflection in the half height mirrors and he realised what was tickling the underside of his chin. A label. He had his T-shirt on backwards and inside out.

He pulled it off and was dragging it back down over his head even as he moved on autopilot out of the elevator and across the floor of the car deck. He blinked. Rubbed his eyes. And looked again. _It’s in the usual spot._ That’s what she’d said. The ‘usual spot’ was not occupied with anything.

He scanned along the lines of vehicles. The deep purple Lexus GX was not in any ‘spot’. That paint job had cost him a bomb, but Kali liked purple. He dragged his phone from his pocket, picking up that unfamiliar number he hit dial, linked with the hotel wifi, he could hear it bleeping instantly as the call connected.

“Hm?” She was distracted.

“Are you sure you left the Lex in your usual spot?”

“Gabe, we’re right in the middle of something.”

“Your Lex, Kali. Are you sure Gregory parked it in your usual spot?”

“Gregory? No. I parked it myself, yesterday.” Her voice was suddenly alert and he knew he had her full attention.

“Maybe Greg took it to the valet…” he mumbled.

“At 4.30 in the morning?” she sounded exasperated. “And how could he, you have the keys.”

“I don’t have your keys… I had to… use...mine.” A suspicion began to build in his mind.

_“How’s Cas doing?”_

_“Tired. Quiet…”_

Too quiet.

_“He took himself off to bed early…”_

Michael, too. No, no, no, no, NO! He groaned. The fucking idiots.

“Gabe? Gabe! What is it?”

“I gotta go, Kali. I need to check on Cas,” he was already stabbing a finger into the elevator buttons as he disconnected the call.

\---

Dean yanked off his shoes and socks, knotting his laces and letting the soft shoes hang from one hand. They weren’t much of a weapon, but they were something to throw and his footfalls would be softer with barefeet. He would worry about grit and stones if and when he made it outside and he no longer had his shoes.

He ran along another stretch of the corridor, pausing to try a couple of doors including one marked cleaning store. Everything was locked. Some of the doorways sported little electronic boxes with softly shining red LEDs. Maybe he should have risked a few extra seconds to grab Alastair’s key card, but he was too damned worried that the asshole would get lucky with the taser.

He had run through four turns already, Benny had told him the prison buildings were laid out around a ring of corridors forming a dodecahedron with two large bulbous sections at each end, bisected by one long corridor. This meant at most he had one more corner and two lengths of corridor until he hit that central corridor, running all the way from High Security through to the holding pens and the Admin block.

He remembered shuffling along the corridor when he arrived, one long straight stretch with two intersections and a series of electronic doors. He had expected the escape siren to start sounding, it seemed unlikely that it would be disabled during a power failure. Surely it had to be considered a vital function. Reduced power or not. He turned the next corner and slowed, ahead he could see the change in the colour of the concrete. A square of yellow and black chevrons painted on it to denote the crossing of two open corridors. He bent double, catching his breath. There were no sounds of pursuit behind him. And judging by the slight pounding in his own head and the tingle of bruising to his knee he has done a sight of damage to Alastair. His jumpsuit felt vaguely sticky under his hand, a wide patch soaking into the stiffened cotton, rendered almost black under the weird green lights, probably blood from a (hopefully) broken nose.

He slowed as he approached the corner, gulping air into his lungs as quietly as he could. It wasn’t worth the risk of running blind into the main corridor, no corners, just a straight line of sight.

He glanced round the corner. A figure stood just yards away, had the man made him? On first glance he looked like a guard, but no-one Dean recognised. But then he’d only been here a few weeks and the guards didn’t all work in HS.

“Come out Dean. Hands where I can see ‘em.” Well that answered that question. The guy’s accent was pure Minnesota.

He tucked the cuff dangling from his wrist up into his sleeve and set his shoes down where he stood, just out of the line of sight of the man in the corridor. He stepped back into the corridor with his hands, not raised, but visible, palms up. The man was tall, easily as tall as Dean himself, a lot older though, well built, maybe even running to fat and definitely alone. But he had something far deadlier than a taser aimed at Dean’s heart. He stared into the black o of the barrel, still wondering how the hell this man knew his name.

“Hands behind your head, then turn around, nice and slow and drop to your knees.”

The man moved closer, but Dean dared do nothing just yet. Once he was in strike range, could he risk the headbutt trick again? Not if this man had already watched him do it once.

“Drop your hands down behind your back. One at a time.” As he moved his arms into position, he watched the shadows around him, they were thickening and getting darker as the man moved closer, Dean tensed ready to strike and something hit him with terrific force right at the base of his already tender skull. Groggy and stunned he fell forward, just bringing his hands round in time, hearing a metallic scrape on concrete, he had just enough time to realise it was the cuff around his wrist, clattering past his own nose as he hit the floor of the tunnel. The last thing he saw was his own shoes and socks, a few feet away.

\---

Gabe pounded his fist with frustration on the door to Cas’ suite. He had left his master key on his bedside table. “Dammit.” He turned back towards the elevator and bumped into a sleep addled Bal. Another time he might have had a great time making fun of the silk pyjamas and dressing gown (were those really flamigoes?) but now he was intent on finding one or the other of his brothers. Just to confirm his worst fears weren’t actually true.

“What ARE you doing?” Bal muttered. “Is it Dean? Has something happened?”

“NO!” Gabe snapped. “It’s Cas. I think he’s gone after Meg and I think Michael has gone with him.”

Clarity snapped into Bal’s eyes and they widened. He reached into his pocket and handed Gabe one of his own master keys. Gabe blinked and stared at it stupidly for a second. “What?” Bal said a little defensively. “I swiped it from the maid… you never know when you’re gonna need it. Oh, don’t look so shocked, I do it in every hotel I stay in.”

Gabe shook his head, but slid the plastic card into the lock. “Cas? Cas?” They both walked through the expanse of sitting area, calling to him. A blanket was crumpled on one of the sofas but it was otherwise as neat as if housekeeping had just visited. The door to the bedroom was shut. Gabe didn’t wait to knock, just throwing it open and striding in, his heart gave a little surge of relief at the outline of a body in the bed, until cold reality struck, no way would Cas sleep through all that pounding and yelling, no matter how tired he was. “Fucking hell,” he growled under his breath. “You’re not 10 anymore.” He yanked the carefully moulded duvet and pillows off the bed and stamped on them in frustration.

“You go and see if Michael is gone,” Bal said. “I’ll try ringing them. Oh Cas, what _were_ you thinking?”

Gabe sprinted along the corridor to the rooms he had given to Michael.

\---

His hearing, as ever, returned first. He caught the last snippet of a conversation stilling even as he started to stir.

“...your own fault. You were hardly an oil painting before anyway… ah… welcome back Mr Winchester.”

The pony shake was instinctive to fix his swimming vision and clear his nostrils. He winced at the pain in his head. Would he ever learn not to do that? It always seemed to be such a good idea, until a couple of shakes in. But then he told himself that everytime... and he still did it. He swallowed to clear his mouth and managed to just about wipe the drool from his chin on his shoulder, wincing as cold metal bit into his wrists where they were fastened behind him.

He cleared his throat and screwed his eyes shut, blinking a couple of times against the brilliance of lights that fractioned and formed rainbows and glares through his damp eyelashes.

A hard chair back dug into his armpits and felt solid under his legs. He tried to straighten his legs to ease the stiffness in his knees, his ankles resisted stubbornly, leaning over slightly he could see the buckle and leather strap of a belt. Looping round two legs, his own and that of the chair to which he was comprehensively fastened. His vision focused briefly on the mess of blood on his knee… whoa, bet Alastair was feeling worse than he was.

He feigned confusion, all the while thinking quickly. Three sets of legs in his peripheral vision. Two heavy booted. Stitch creased. Uniform Pants. The third… heeled, delicate looking. Not bad ankles as it happened. Two guards and a woman? What the fuck was going on?

“Now, Mr Winchester… Dean… may I call you Dean?” The question was rhetorical, clearly as the soft voice continued on. “I knew you were coming here Dean. We’ve been watching Benny for quite some time now and we know he was getting close. That’s when we decided to look a little closer at his background, and there was that lovely reference from his naval commander. All about what a great asset he was, how good he was at working with customs, it didn’t take much to connect the dots after that. But what I need to know Dean is just how much information you have been able to get back to the Mishpacha?”

He rolled his head from side to side, glancing left and right surreptitiously, while he bought time to think. Mishpacha. The family. She thought he was Bass. Or that Bass was him… no… the first one.

“Dean!” The sing song voice held a note of impatience and as set a of booted feet drew closer to his side, he flinched, moaning softly as his head was yanked up by the hair. “The Mishpacha, Dean, how much do they know?”

“The whatnow?” He blinked at the woman, giving, he hoped, the glazed appearance of a concussed man momentarily fascinated by a bobble of curls that seemed to shift independently of her head movements. “I jus’ … I was jus’ tryna sleep, an’ then ‘m here… whe’s here?”

The firm set of her jaw and the tight line of her lips implied she probably wasn’t buying it.

“Really, Dean. You think I don’t do my research. You stood out like a sore thumb on that intake sheet. Did you really think that hokey background story was going to wash? I’m actually a little disappointed I was lead to believe that The Family was a professional outfit. But huge gaps in your record? Brushes with serial killers? A shambolic hobo lifestyle? Was the idea to make it all seem so preposterous that it was too unbelievable not to be true? The ultimate double bluff. Never mind that ridiculous car.”

“Hey,” Dean said, eyes narrowing sharply into focus, no-one got to talk that way about Baby. “That’s my life you’re dissing, lady.”

The sigh she gave was exaggerated to say the least. Behind her, Dean could see Alastair, his nose a pulpy swollen mass, the grimace (hopefully of pain), showing teeth stained with blood.

“Hey Alastair,” he said with mock cheeriness, “You made a real mess o’ my jumpsuit, there’s gonna be hell to pay when Crowley has to requisition me a new one.” With a growl he started towards Dean, but a simple flung out arm and a slight turn of her head, froze him in his tracks. She met eyes with the guard beside him and the grip in his hair loosed. He had the brief chance to recognise him as the man from the corridor before the blur of his hand loomed large in his eye and he took a solid backhander to the side of his cheek.

He groaned, but raised his head defiantly. Keep ‘em talking, keep ‘em off track, buy himself time. He gave the woman, his best shit-eating grin. “What? Everyone knows Crowley hates paperwork!”

“Crowley,” she said softly, “is an imbecile. Easy to manipulate and simple to control. I’ve been tying that fool in knots for years.” She seized Dean’s chin, fingernails biting crescents into his skin. “You will tell me what I want to know Dean, one way or another.” The tone and accent of her voice changed suddenly, still sing-song, but dropping into the distinctive cadence that was pure Minnesota. “What you don’t understand is that you’re not the only one who learnt their trade from their family. Daddy had some pretty exacting standards. My brothers and I were well trained. Daddy always said the best hunt was human, but I don’t think even he ever realised just how much more fun it is to play the long game. Far less messy than all that running around in the woods. So you see, I learnt from the very best and then I just got better. I know just what you can do to toy with your prey. And no amount of counselling or well meaning social workers can take that away. All those fools taught me was how to pretend.”

She took a step back, demurely, voice once again soft. “Alastair, why don’t you soften our guest up a little. I’m sure you need a little session to de-stress.”

\---

Bal hurried back into his own room, grabbing his phone from the charging table. He wondered for a moment about the wisdom of ringing Cas. How long had he and Michael been gone? What if he rang and gave them away? Surely Cas would be smart enough to put his phone on silent. He ran his fingers through his hair, calming his pounding heart and chastised himself for panicking. He would text first. Give it 30 seconds and then ring. He sent a message to the cell number of the phone Gabe had lent to Cas. Then one to Michael’s number.

He found himself wandering back into the Cas’ suite. His subconscious feeling that maybe this was all some mistake and Cas would be there perhaps. He didn’t really know. Breath bated, he dialled Cas number.

\---

His breath sounded jagged and wheezy even to his own ears. He was fairly certain he was carrying at least one busted rib and he spat a good measure or two of blood and spit onto the floor as Alastair took a step back.

“Feel better now?” The woman asked.

“Peachy,” Dean answered lifting his head. He blinked a trickle of blood out of his eye. It smarts, surprisingly enough, does blood.

“She wasn’t talking to you, Deano,” Alastair grumped, his voice even more nasal now, Dean was satisfied to notice.

Sidestepping the splatters of blood on the floor, clearly not wishing to dirty her shoes, she moved back into Dean’s eyeline, using one outstretched index finger to press under his chin and tilt his head. He let her. Giving her a little wink and his best come-get-me smile.

She frowned. Delicate little lines appearing between her exquisitely plucked brows. “Clearly he’s not been softened enough. Perhaps we should start breaking fingers…”

The guard beside him shifted a step closer menacingly. “All right, all right,” Dean said. “Just remind me. What was the question?”

“Dean, Dean, Dean. How much have you managed to tell the Mish…”

“Nothing. Sweet FA.” He held her gaze and she looked confused. There’s nothing like total honesty to confuse the bad guy, Dean thought.

“Nothing? You honestly expect me to believe that you’ve been here all these weeks and you’ve told them nothing.”

“I can honestly say, I’ve not. Until tonight I had no idea who any of you were. Still don’t really,” he added cheerfully, and her eyes narrowed. She shot a glare at Alastair. And there it was. The chink in the armour, the crack in the shield, the… oh, crap, his ribs hurt.

“He has to be lying,” Alastair snapped. “Why would they have pulled that stunt with the taser, if they weren’t on to me?”

“Ah,” Dean conceded. “Him, I do know a bit about. Besides him being a total douche and all. He has to be about the worst operative, in the history of operatives, and that’s even allowing for the fictional ones who do it for comic effect like Clouseau and Johnny English…” Missy grabbed his chin again and he winced this time, as she deepened and widened the split on his lip. Eyes boring into his. “Much as I love all this foreplay, sweetheart. I do at least like to have the name to forget after we get to the main event…”

She slapped him. The sting was nothing amongst the other sensations raging through his abused body, but he still made a play of pulling up sharp.

“As if I would ever let a player like you touch _me_.”

“Saving yourself for Daddy?” Dean asked, enjoying the flare of anger he provoked until, oh shit, oh shit, oh shit, she grabbed his throat and squeezed. He gasped. She was surprisingly strong, blocking his airway with an iron grip. His head began to buzz, ears burning, eyes rolling, breath rattling through his restricted airway. He saw a hand close over her wrist, and a surprisingly gentle voice said. “Missy. He can’t tell us anything if he’s dead.”

She relinquished her grip with a look of disgust. “Sorry Lee,” she mumbled, the Minnesota creeping back into her voice. “You know I don’t like…when folks diss Pa.”

“Oh Christ,” Dean choked, “Is this hulk your brother?”

The arm gripping Missy’s wrist tightened further, “Pa’s dead, Missy. This boy’s just riling ya. Think on, now.”

Dean stared up into a pair of sharp eyes, shining with animal cunning and pleasure at what was happening. Three on one. The story of all his defeats just lately. There was always one damned smart ass, just when you were starting to get somewhere.

\---

Michael’s suite looked even less lived in than Cas’ if that were possible. Gabe didn’t even bother to call out to his older brother. In his heart of hearts, he knew there was no point. He pushed open the bedroom door, at least Michael hadn’t decided to make a pretence that he was in the bed. It was untouched. That meant in all likelihood they had left not long after their 'early night.' Christ, they had a seven, maybe nine-hour head start.

Somewhere in the corner of the room, a jaunty tune jolted him. The eerie ethereal glow of a phone screen illuminating a section of curtain. He launched himself at it and stared at the screen. Cas (temporary number). Michael and his ever methodical ordered mind.

“Hello?”

“Dammit.” Bal’s voice growled. “They’ve both left their phones behind.”

“Despite being an idiot, my little bro is no fool,” Gabe said softly. “He knows we could track their phones.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Canon typical violence  
> Stereotypical misogynistic language & accusations of incest.


	31. Chapter 31

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> warnings at the end...

“We don’t have time for this,” Benny grumbled as Bass threw uniform at him.

“We make time, Benny. They meet a man in a jumpsuit carrying a tazer and a side arm, they’re gonna shoot first and ask questions later. Now shut up and strip. It’s taken me weeks to steal enough of this shit in your size! Show some gratitude.”

He shut his locker with a clang, the bug eye cameras were still off. “The only way you could shut all these cameras off is from the admin centre. Our passes don’t work in there. Crowley do you reckon?”

Benny shook his head as he yanked his foot into a boot and laced it with the practiced hands of a military man. It felt strange after so many years of wearing soft prison plimsolls. “Nah, I’d bet my life on it not being Crowley. He’s an asshole at times, but he’s… I dunno… he’s just not _this_ kind of asshole.”

Benny checked the chamber of the Glock 22 and slotted it into the holster. It was only normal for CO’s to carry their guns when they escorted prisoners offsite. The only firearms that made it inside the compound were the rifles in the towers and even then only really for show, carried unloaded except in riot conditions. Bass had carefully smuggled his own sidearm and this spare into the rec room, using convoluted methods. His natural propensity for looking dopey helped he found. He had hidden the guns in the depths of his locker and hoped to high hell there wasn’t a spot check. It would have been automatic dismissal if he was caught, but that scarcely mattered now. In truth all that mattered now was finding Dean and quickly.

They’d already come across an ominously huge patch of blood and Benny had been all for immediately setting chase, following the splatters of blood on the ground. But Bass had insisted they needed weapons if they were to actually do any good.

The blood spots led away along the corridor in a series of splodges. Gradually becoming elliptical and elongating as they moved away. This blood was dripping and whatever it was dripping from was moving fast enough to suggest at least walking speed. Whether that was a walking wounded or a carried victim and who was bleeding they had no way to tell. They were already ten to fifteen minutes down on what had happened to Dean when those lights went out and Benny was worried at just what Alastair had planned. He had wanted to force him into the open to reveal who he was working with or for, but having Dean involved was exactly what he had been trying to avoid every since the kid had turned up in his cell.

“What I don’t understand,” Bass mumbled as they worked their way along the corridor following the droplets, “is why they took Dean? Do they think we will co-operate if they have a hostage,” he lifted his eyes, enlightenment coming, “or do they actually think he’s the threat? Why would they assume Dean is the threat and not me?”

“I can’t imagine,” Benny said mildly as Bass who had been squatting low, almost tripped over his own feet as he straightened back up. “Bass, where the hell did you learn how to carry a weapon, anyhow? Re-runs of the A-Team?”

As soon as he was sure Benny was looking the other way, Bass pulled a me-me-meh face, but he stayed upright and began following Benny’s lead instead.

\---

Dean let his head hang forward, the cut over his eye had finally begun to clot. The pain in his ribs wasn’t too bad provided he didn’t try to move, or cough (or breathe, his sarcastic little inner voice added). He huffed slightly. His current situation wasn’t a laughing matter, but he knew from past bitter experience if he did laugh, it was gonna hurt like fuck. They were ignoring him now, he wondered at what point they were gonna figure out they didn’t actually need him anymore.

“...our cover here is blown. Even if we get rid of our friend here, it won’t take them long to figure out who shut the surveillance cameras down…” she was saying.

Jesus, no wonder no-one had come to find him, no-one other than Alastair had known he was loose. No-one else except Bass and Benny, if they weren’t…no point thinking on that. He wriggled his wrists, but he’d been unconscious when they cuffed him, the metal was tight to his skin, he couldn’t even twist his hands.

“...what time did you drop the roofy on your ‘colleague’?”

Alastair mumbled something, but Dean didn’t catch it. He hadn’t seen Bass as he was marched from ISO, but then again it was dark as hell, maybe he had been slumped on the floor behind the guard station. Well crap, that meant he was on his own: He had to find a way to make them release him from this chair.

“We need to bring our plans forward, time to get Jared out now. We need to kill his cellmate though. No loose ends. We don’t know quite how much Jared has let on to him over the years, the big dumb ox…”

“It don’t matter none, Missy. He’s crazy, muttering under his breath all the time, they’d never know what was truth and what wasn’t!”

Something clicked into place in Dean’s mind. The crazy cellmate, it had to be Scitz, always muttering. A steady stream of nonsense. Dean remembered him one morning at breakfast.

_“Poor dumb Jarhead, never good enough. Not even as clever as his missy. Couldn’t hit a barn door. Shoot the bitch. Shoot her. Goddamit, Jarhead… Sorry Pa, sorry Pa. Please don’t Pa. Big dumb Jarhead.”_

It hadn’t really registered, but with hindsight it made sense. Dean had always assumed Scitz was blabbering back to his own spell in the marines. But no. Dean had misheard. It wasn’t Jarhead, it was Jared.

Benny had told him briefly. Avoid that one. A nasty piece of work… a serial killer… but not the usual clever sort, dumb, really, really dumb. Easy manipulated with huge daddy issues (join the club, buddy, join the club). Just steer clear. Don’t mention family around him.

Christ on a stick, maybe if he hadn’t been so intent on keeping his head down he’d have asked a few more questions and connected the dots. When he and Sam had been young kids. Dad had holed them up in a motel in ‘Nowheresville’ Wisconsin, while he chased down a lead. There had been nothing to do but watch TV and the TV was full of a huge case unfolding in neighbouring Minnesota. Their own answer to Ed Gein, only there had been three of them, a family, Old Man Bender and his two sons. Taking their victims off the highways. There’d been some kind of show down, they tried to take a ‘couple’ off the road, only it was an off duty cop and her brother.

On the early breaking news, before the FBI had descended, they had shown a scrappy old farmhouse, a car graveyard and a straggle of disorganised law enforcement vehicles and ambulances. Among all the chaos, there had been a young girl, grimy, dressed in clothes more at home on Little House on the Prairie stood quietly watching. There’d been no mention of her later, just the manhunt for the second brother and more and more revelations about the contents of the house. The officer was being hailed as a hero, shooting the old man dead and putting his son in the hospital. Gradually the press had got bored, especially when the ‘hero’ refused all comment, remaining grimly tight-lipped about the whole affair.

It had been Dean’s first real introduction to the term ‘serial killer’. Sammy was little more than a toddler, but according to Dad, Dean was old enough to know the truth of it. Barely 8 years old and he was ‘old enough to know the truth’. Dad had spent the next week teaching him how to shoot and reaffirming the need to ‘protect Sammy at all costs.’

Could this really be them? Had he ended up being held captive by The Minnesota Benders? Was Missy really that lost little girl? She was the right age. But that bubble crop of curls… of course, there were perms... and hair bleach... well… Crap. If this was all fate or kismet or some shit like that, he had done something pretty bad in a previous life.

“… need to tie up the loose ends… we make it look like this one and Lafitte had this whole trip to ISO planned as an escape attempt and it will only be natural to assume they double-crossed each other. Then one body or two, we can make it look like they took each other out…”

“...better to kill Lafitte in his cell, we try to take two of them out of the building and things will get awkward. Off that guard too. We can always disappear this one. It will add to the confusion. We get Jared and get out of here before the morning shift arrives…we can be halfway out of the country before the dust settles...”

Dean slid his eyes sideways, trying to scope more of his surroundings without moving his head to alert them he was conscious again. It was a machine room of sorts, dials and a control panel to one side, bare walls all round. Bare concrete striking cold under the balls of his feet. There was nothing within reach around him, they had stood this chair away from the door in the centre of the available space. He could hear they were all stood by the door, but they were frustratingly out of his view line. Lee and Missy seemed to be doing most of the talking. Alastair making only that one mumbled contribution. He risked lifting his head a little. He may as well have lifted it a lot, Alastair was watching him, with pure, focused malice.

“He’s awake,” he slurred his words, the mush of his nose making his voice even more sibilant than it was naturally.

Missy and Lee turned their heads, almost in unison and for the first time, with their eyes similarly gleaming and predatory, Dean could see the likeness. “We’re running out of time,” Missy said flatly. “It’s time to act.”

“I’ll go fetch Jared,” Lee pressed a hand to her shoulder, as she pouted. “It has to be me, they’d take one look at that nose,” he flicked his head towards Alastair, “And know straight off something’s up. And you sure as hell can’t go. If you ring ahead and tell them there’s a transport order, I can bluff my way in and out. We’re down several staff, so the solo escort should just about fly. You make the phone call and then go with Alastair and help him finish off Lafitte.”

“OK,” she muttered, “but I don’t like leaving this one alone, maybe we should kill him now.”

“He ain’t going anywhere, Missy. Even if he could get free, there’s nowhere for him to go. We take him with us and you can have your fun with him. You’ve earned it. Besides, he’s heavy and you know what Pa always said.”

She nodded, the innocent bobble of Shirley Temple curls incongruous to the inky deadness of her eyes, “Better a dead man walking than a dead weight.” They exchanged a fond look before Lee straightened his uniform and headed off out into the corridor.

Missy was still pouting. “I can do it alone,” Alastair offered, looking at her curiously. "You stay and make your phone calls. Keep an eye on him."

 “I’ve been playing sweet little Missy for far too long,” she said thoughtfully, one finger twiddling a lock of hair. "But Lee is right. If we're taking him with us, I can have my fun later. In the meantime... I can practice my aim..."  Crap, they were going to leave. Benny was gonna be a sitting duck. He had to stall them... Dean braced himself for more pain.

“Aw, you're not gonna leave me, Missy. We're just getting acquainted, and I've finally worked out who you are!” Dean grinned at her, his lip tore open again, but he carried on grinning anyway. He had her attention, now. She was watching him intently. “You and your two yahoo brothers. You’re the Benders!”

Behind her, Alastair seemed frozen to the spot. “Your Pa taught you everything he knew? Ha!” Dean shook his head faking mirth. Her face was setting, jaw tightening, mouth forming a thin line. “He got shot by an off-duty female cop.”

“You go on ahead.” She said to Alastair, her voice flat, her whole attention focused on Dean. Alastair glanced at her doubtfully. “I said GO!” Dean watched the door swing shut behind him.

Dean swallowed, rolled his head, letting his neck crack. “Well, blow me. Your Pa taught you everything he knew!" He filled his voice with amused sarcasm. "No wonder we’re riding to hell in a handcart. He couldn’t hunt his way out of a penny arcade game…Beaten by some off-duty hicksville cop and a woman to boot!” Mocking her father’s death with a healthy dollop of misogyny. Feel them buttons, see how hard I can push, he thought.

He winked at her and it was the final straw, with a burst of rage, she flew at him, all nails and fury. This time she had his throat in both hands, and fuck what the books on forensics say about throttling someone taking strength, she was gonna choke the life out of him. He pushed with the balls of his feet and with her momentum it was enough to throw the chair and both of them over backwards. He rounded his shoulders as much as he could, letting them relax at the very last minute to try and avoid smashing his brains out on the concrete behind him, but he needn’t have worried. Missy’s arm somehow ended up behind his head, he heard it snap with a sickening crunch as it broke his fall. Her grip on his throat relaxed and he turned his head sideways towards the weird gurgling noise she was making. He stared straight into her eyes at the moment they started to go dark and slide shut. A small trail of blood running and pooling under the golden bobbling curls, where it dribbled from her mouth. If he didn’t get her airway clear she was going to drown in her own blood, but that was really the least of his problems at the moment.

He snapped his head back up, beginning to try to pull himself free of the chair, but his own weight was pressing the metal back and sides into his arms and he could feel (thank God for small mercies, at least he could feel his arms and hands) the back edge of the seat pressing into his wrists. He was pinning himself down. He tried to crane his neck looking for Alastair, conscious that he might have heard the clatter and come back. With the front chair legs no longer in contact with the ground he straightened and stretched his own legs, sliding the belts free of the chair and kicking them off his ankles. He flicked both legs together to the side away from Missy’s prone body and it flipped sending him sprawling onto the floor himself. He misjudged the amount of momentum it would take and ended up, wincing, face first on the floor with the chair half on top of him, but his limbs were at last free of it. He caught his breath. Missy was still gurgling ominously. He managed to get to his knees. He would have to search her for a key to the cuffs. It would not take Lee long to get back once he reached the wing and discovered no call had been made.

He paused briefly wondering about spinal injuries before he rolled her over far more gently than she deserved, groaning softly and wincing at the stabbing pain in his own ribs. Her breathing softened and the gurgling ceased, he glanced over his shoulder and watched a clog of blood and spit slide from her mouth onto the concrete of the floor. He moved as quickly as he could, working with his hands behind his back, awkwardly pulling her arms and legs into the recovery position. He noted dispassionately that it was her wrist that was broken as he placed it softly in front of her face. She did not even stir and he wondered momentarily at the extent of a possible brain injury, even while he tapped at her pockets hunting keys. He was just beginning to doubt she had them, when he thought he heard footsteps. He stumbled to his feet and started to move behind the door, just as it started to swing open.

\---

Amy watched Charlie’s fingers flying over the keys. They had temporarily stopped their work compiling evidence dossiers for the team of lawyers in the Vegas Offices. Kali had taken a phone call while they were just in the middle of unravelling a particularly complex trail through offshore accounts and seemingly endless subsidiaries chasing a series of payments made to someone to make a ‘problem’ disappear. She had excused herself and then returned, over bright and cheery, with a few boxes of pizza, suggesting the team take a break as they had all been working so hard. As soon as everyone bar Spengler had left the room, she had settled herself in front of the computer screen.

“I’m about to ask you to do something that is definitely not strictly legal. I want you all to know that if you choose to say no, or prefer not to be involved, there is no…”

Charlie had glanced first at Kasia, then at Amy both of whom gave her little nods of consent, before she interrupted Kali. “What do you need, Kali?”

“Well first, I need you to track my cell phone, but to do that, you’ll have to hack into my provider’s network files, because I don’t have a tracker program installed. Can you do that?”

Thin shoulders gave a little twitch. Charlie looked vaguely insulted. Kasia absent-mindedly carded her fingers through Charlie’s hair. Amy watched the red strands separating and flowing between them.

“And then I want you to use its location to hack into the state highway cams and see if you can track my car.”

“Why don’t you just report it stolen?” Kasia asked, not really quite catching on.

“Because that won't make it a priority, certainly not like we will and when we do find it, we don’t really want the attention of law enforcement. We think when we find my car… well, we’re not exactly sure what we’re going to find along with it.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> more gore and canon typical violence
> 
> Dean is also using some deliberately provocative misogynistic comments.


	32. Chapter 32

Alastair sighed with relief when Winchester began needling Missy. He had not been looking forward to her finding out that he had failed in his timing and not administered the rohypnol into Bass’ coffee. Still the dopey little shit couldn’t do much trapped in the bathroom. He would be so pleased to be rescued it almost made Alastair feel ashamed to fire a bullet into his brain. Almost. Lafitte however was a different matter, it was a real shame he couldn’t draw out Benny’s demise. He would have quite enjoyed watching him suffer. Maybe if he shot him through the gut, it would still be a death shot, but the most painful kind… he could actually argue it would look more natural too...The guard would be a clinical execution, but Benny would look just like the heat of the moment result of a quarrel…

He was so busy going over all the possible ways to increase Benny’s suffering that he didn’t notice that his role in this hunt was no longer predator, until he saw Lafitte’s bulk in the corridor ahead of him.

He grabbed his taser and heard the zinging crackle as it deployed. “Fuck man, what the hell happened to your nose?” Benny’s face was slanting sideways. How could he still talk with the … ah…  and then the concrete floor finished what the back of Dean’s head had started, completely pulverising his nose and doing quite a number on his prominent chin.

\---

Benny chortled as Bass stepped out of the shadows detaching the fine wires from Alastair’s lower back and buttocks. “You shot him in the ass… Man… I’d say your taser skills ain’t improving any, but I can’t say I mind in his case.”

“Hm,” Bass said darkly, pretending to blow the gunsmoke away from the business end of the taser, before resetting it and stowing it in his belt. “Who says I missed.”  

\---

Crowley was early. Again. He had been woken at 4.45 am by the insistent trilling of his landline. A number he carefully and scrupulously guarded from all but the most relevant of people. He had answered it. Almost politely considering the hour. His mother. Calling from Scotland.

“I never did get the hang of the time difference, Fergus. You know I always struggle with it.” He didn’t bother to call her on it. She had been flying backwards and forwards between the two countries for years even before he was born. While it still flew, she had used Concorde. She was well aware of the time difference. He had heard her moan about it often enough. She had as ever, little of importance to impart. He sometimes thought she did it on purpose just to annoy him. He thought about trying to settle back to sleep, but he was thoroughly awake now, and something was nagging at the back of his mind. So he ambled through his morning routine and drove the short distance to the jail, looking forward to his first pot of English Breakfast tea and with the hope that whatever was niggling his subconscious would make the short journey to the front of his mind.

While he waited for the elusive wisp of awareness to coalesce into corporeal thought, he allowed himself to plot with pleasant anticipation on ways to inconvenience the irritating Dr R Roman, MD, PhD.

He pulled into his reserved spot and was surprised to see the familiar hulk of Missy’s truck parked in her usual place. With a sigh, he noticed the flashing LED’s on the security panel and reached for his key chain. Yet another bloody powercut. Ah well, that might explain Missy’s presence. If her own power was out, she had a tendency to come in, just to make sure everything came back online smoothly. The emergency lighting was on and no siren was blaring, so as ever his capable staff had simply taken it all in their stride.

He used his master key to unlock the door manually and tripped lightly up the stairs towards his office and the lure of his bone china tea set. He would make a head start on his e-mails, while Missy made his tea, then he would ask Missy to show Dr. Roman into the secure interview rooms downstairs when he arrived mid-morning. They were practically VIP rooms and because they were used for prisoner interviews, meetings with lawyers and law enforcement and the like, they had no external windows. Extremely comfortable chairs and solid heavy furniture. Perfect for an important visitor like Dr. Dick.

Of course, a night without air-conditioning should have the atmosphere in there resembling a locker room after team showers. The HD digital recording system with the capability for live feed via computer would mean that he could keep a special eye on the good doctor, while he was waiting. Crowley chuckled. Only the best for Dr Dick.

\---

Dean held his breath, he had one shot and one shot only. He could either use his feet, strike hard at the side of the knee and then probably have to run for it…or he could charge and use his body as a battering ram. Either way it was really last stand, one desperate attempt.

\---

“So the phone is off now?” Gabriel had known, but still he had hoped.

Charlie’s bright red head nodded on the screen. “Uhuh.” She confirmed unnecessarily. “But that last connect and the one before narrowed us down on options to track the car. It seemed logical that as they were heading North, and they had no reason to suspect that we were tracking them we could assume…”

Gabriel tensed and didn’t realise he was holding his breath until Kali dug her fingers into the knot of his shoulder. It stopped the temptation to snap at Charlie to get on with it and he raised his hand to his own shoulder to lace their fingers together.

“...so we started at the maximum circuit on all intersections in the span from North to East and worked backwards until we picked them up…”

“You found them!”

“No, but we can tell you where they last were… Heading North on...er...US 95. They went through the intersection with Lee Canyon Road at just past 11 last night, just past some place called Cold Creek…”

“Crap,” Gabe’s voice shook slightly, “They’re heading out into the desert. It’s a maze of tracks and back roads up there.”

Charlie nodded slowly and Kasia echoed Kali on screen. Fingers on shoulder providing solace. “It’s the best I can do, I’m so sorry. If it helps we can see them both in the car, only their outlines, but it looks like it was just the two of them.”

“It won’t be for long,” Gabe muttered sadly to himself.


	33. Chapter 33

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You know this story was only meant to be about 15 - 20k when I wrote the outline. Flipping crazy.

Benny wasn’t sure who to pick up first, but decided in the end to help Dean. Afterall Bass was neither handcuffed, nor covered in blood, although he was groaning well. He fished around in the various pouches on the guard belt he was wearing until he found a set of handcuff keys.

Dean’s breathing hitched as Benny hooked his hands through his arms, but he did manage to push himself to his feet. Benny tried the keys, more in hope than expectation, but they did not release Dean’s wrists, so he settled instead for righting the chair and guiding the man to sit. He slumped a little awkwardly onto it, legs bent, breathing quite heavily.

Bass groaned again and Benny stretched out an arm, pulling him to his feet. “What…” he started breathlessly “...the hell... did you do ...that for?” His hooded eyes staring at Dean accusingly, as he bent, hands braced on his knees.

“Consider it payback.” Dean grimaced and Benny chuckled. Heartily relieved to hear the humour laced retort. Kid looked like shit, but was surprisingly unscathed. _At least on the surface_ , his brain added unhelpfully.

He was staring at the prone figure on the floor, one heeled shoe half away from her foot as Dean said urgently. “It’s not just her...Alastair... there’s another guard, too... She called him Lee… he’s gone to high security to fetch their brother… Scitz’ cell mate is their brother… it’s…”

Benny and Bass exchanged a look over his head as Dean bent double and coughed, groaning as he stopped. Benny gripped the orange jump-suited shoulder. “We’ll take care of it… you just rest easy, now. You’ve done more than enough.”

“I’ll say he has!” They all jumped as a fourth figure entered the room.

\---

Sam carefully unbarricaded his bedroom door and flexed his grip on his overnight case. He had left his credit card details when he registered, so if he could manage it, he had every intention of leaving without any more sessions as eye candy. He had slept surprisingly well considering the evening’s entertainments.

He was half way along the landing towards the stairs when he heard a door opening somewhere behind him, the surge of adrenaline made his heart pound and he automatically dropped back against the wall. He suppressed the laugh that burbled in his chest at his own reaction. She was 105 pounds wet through.

He heard voices and strained to listen.

“... sleep well?” Her voice was all professional enquiry and the sing song of hotel pleasantries.

“Thank you. It was extremely comfortable. I’m not sure what they were thinking directing me to that awful motel in the first place, but I’m glad I found you instead. If I wasn’t heading out on business straight after my morning meeting, I might well have stayed another night.”

“Glad to hear it. We pride ourselves on our personal attention and the care we take of our guests…”

Sam snorted quietly. She wasn’t fucking kidding, he could have done with a little less of her ‘personal’ attention. Still, he was out of here, just as soon as this little transaction was over. It was a shame she was on the desk, but he could cope with a few more minutes of being leched over before he escaped to his car if he had to. But he needn’t have worried. He had zoned out on their conversation, but… the clank of something vaguely metallic hitting the floor drew his attention back from his thoughts. “Oh, please allow me to help you carry your things out to your car. It can’t be easy. It looks quite a painful injury…” her voice was going quieter, accompanied by the creak and thump of a pair of crutches. The bell on the door rang pleasantly and the stairs and landing fell silent.

\---

Crowley was disappointed in himself. He was not at all sure how he could have been so easily deceived. Although perhaps he should have realised that no-one born stateside was that good at making tea without an ulterior motive.

He stretched back up from where he was squatting by his bubble haired assistant. He sighed a little sadly. Despite the efforts at first aid, he suspected that the outcome was not going to be good. She was bleeding from both nose and ears and her breathing was shallow and laboured. A serious head injury. It would take the first EMT’s another 45 minutes or so to arrive from the nearby hospital. He did not have long to ‘dress’ this situation.

Benny caught the keys thrown in his direction, purely by virtue of a watchful nature and quick reflexes. Bass cleared his throat to speak, but Crowley silenced him with a raised finger and a glare.

“You may find those will release Mr Winchester, ‘Officer’ Lafitte. I retrieved them from Alastair’s pocket when I found him in the janitor’s closet. Nice job of his face, by the way. I assume that was your handiwork, Mr Bass?”

Crowley shook his head as Bass raised his hand in the direction of Dean. “...I’m sure it was entirely necessary for you to deploy your taser. Self-defence I would venture. Carried out in order to protect yourself and these two prisoners as you escorted them under my orders…”

He was initially met with three wtf expressions, he pressed on and watched with some satisfaction as they began to catch the drift of his thoughts. “...it would appear, Gentlemen, that you have inadvertently foiled an escape attempt and poor Missy here was the victim of a fall out between the conspirators… once she had served her purpose in disabling the CCTV one of them decided to silence her. We may never know exactly who betrayed whom, without that CCTV, it will take quite some time to follow the trail of evidence to unpick exactly what CO Cooper was intending to do when Alastair shot him.”

“You shot Cooper?” Bass spluttered.

“I most certainly did not, Officer Bass,” Crowley snapped indignantly. “Do you have any idea how much paperwork I would have to complete if I shot one of my own officers?”

 

\---

 

Ephraim eyed Crowley suspiciously, but he checked Dean over with clinical professionalism. Winchester had taken one hell of a beating and should by rights be spending the night in the infirmary, but Crowley’s instructions were clear. Check him, patch him and dispatch him.

Then there was Benny Lafitte, quietly observing from a chair just inside the door. The sleeves of his orange jumpsuit rolled up past his elbows showing arms that would put The Rock to shame and a look of steady concern on his face. Bass in contrast wore a look of studied innocence, despite the beginnings of a black eye and the posture and exaggerated movements of a man nursing bruised ribs.

“There’s nothing critical.” Ephraim said curtly. “But he’ll need watching for signs of concussion and I need to stitch that eye. I still think he should be admitted to the infirmary for the night.” Orders be damned, he would make his point anyway.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Crowley smiled. “Mr Winchester won’t want to delay his release for anything as trifling as a few stitches and the odd bruise or two. Right Mr Winchester?”

Dean’s eyes flitted from Crowley and back to Ephraim. “No,” he said quickly, “No, I’m… I mean I feel fine. Walking wounded, I’ll admit, but definitely walking... had worse on a Friday night to be honest...”

“Good, good, and, of course, his brother will be able to follow the concussion guidance I have no doubt you will provide, Ephraim… Besides you will be somewhat busy taking care of Mr Lafitte, what with his loss of memory following the nasty blow he took to the head during an altercation involving two of my officers. An injury he sustained, I might add, while demonstrating his usual exemplary bravery, assisting the officer to restrain his colleague, despite being shackled throughout. Action, which I will, of course, be ensuring is brought to the attention of the parole board when they convene next week. I’m sure you will find that he requires your careful medical supervision for, oh I don’t know, shall we say at least the next two weeks.”

Ephraim shook his head, almost imperceptibly. Whatever the hell had gone on here last night he doubted anyone would ever be sure. The minute Crowley started with the flowery ‘Britishness’ and using phrases like ‘of course’ and ‘I might add’ there really was no point arguing. His version of events was going to hold sway. And if that meant Benny served out the remainder of his sentence in the infirmary, so be it. There were worse people he could have in his care.

Very much worse. Ephraim sighed. He had signed off the contents of two ambulances already this morning, shortly after his arrival at work. Both occupants with head injuries. One heading straight off for the hour long journey to the local hospital. The other crew working steadily to stabilise their patient, the crackle over the radio talking about the arrival of the medevac chopper and severe head injuries. The grimness on their faces clear. The prognosis was poor.

Not as poor as the remaining patient, he thought. Medical humour at its very darkest. His remaining patient was a corpse with a single gunshot wound straight through his heart. His remaining patient was in the morgue, waiting for the less urgent arrival of the coroner.

Dean Winchester was making no attempt to hide the grin on his face, despite the split lip and pattern of bruises over his cheekbones. The green of his shining eyes in stark contrast to the deep maroons and purples of the cut and bruise swelling one eyebrow into something resembling a cro magnon shelf. Crowley patted him on the shoulder, ignoring the wince and little grunt of pain. “Well, Mr Winchester. I must go and finish signing your release orders, before I start on the rest of my paperwork… wouldn’t want any part of this,” his hand flapped slightly dismissively, “...’incident’ to impede you. What with you being a totally innocent bystander caught up in something entirely beyond your control.”

He walked towards the door, turning back briefly. “Of course, I would urge you Mr Winchester, to be a little more careful in future about your by-standing activities…they seem to have got you into a lot of...erm...unnecessariness... I wouldn’t want to see you again. Officer Bass will escort you out, in say… oh I think 30 minutes should be sufficient time for me to type up your statement of events. I’m sure you’ll be delighted to sign it as you depart. I apologise for the slight delay but I find myself short of a secretary and my typing skills are not perhaps as they should be.”

\---

Sam let a few cars pull in front of him as he followed the automatic car Dick Roman was driving in the direction of the penitentiary. He had intended to go and get himself some breakfast, but he found he was just eager to get parked up and wait for Dean. Then maybe they could find a diner together. For once the idea of watching his brother inhale a pie for breakfast didn't seem so bad.

He yawned. The last few weeks were beginning to catch up on him. It would be good to just spend a few days relaxing with all his family; blood, old and new… He smiled to himself. His brother was a lucky bastard. He collected loyal friends effortlessly...in fact he collected them in spite of everything he tried to do to put them off.  As for Cas, well he was a sweetheart. Tough, loyal, obviously kind, considerate, thoughtful and smart, and even as a badge carrying heterosexual Sam had to admit pretty fucking gorgeous to look at. If Dean screwed this up with his usual level of emotional constipation, Sam might just kick his ass.

He spotted a Freshii and changed his mind about breakfast, suddenly craving fruit parfait. He climbed back in the car, ten minutes later and set his meal and drink down on the passenger seat. It was just after 10 if Bass was correct he could have ten minutes facetime with Jess and still arrive in plenty of time to collect Dean.

He reached for his cell and noticed the blank screen. He’d been so busy fending off his super fan he’d forgotten to put it on charge, with a mumbled curse he climbed back out of the car and opened the trunk intent on finding his USB cable from the depths of his overnight bag.

\---

“What do you mean there’s no answer?”

“What do you mean what do I mean? There’s no answer. No response. NO ANSWER.”

“Well is it ringing? Is it going straight to answerphone? Is it out of juice, switched off or just in poor reception?”

The two men were almost shouting at one another, their noses mere inches apart, although Gabe’s was obviously facing upwards, while Bal’s pointed down.

“Is it just off or off off?”

“How the hell would I know whether it’s off or off off… what the fuck does that even mean?”

They were so busy arguing the didn’t really register the quiet voice behind them at first...

“Ah… Good morning. My name is Kali Amma, I am a lawyer working on the Winchester case... Would it be possible for you to get a message to Mr Sam Winchester? I believe he will be collecting his brother Dean this morning and we need to speak to him as a matter of urgency… you can?… oh, thank you. That is most helpful… Yes, please… mmm-hm... If he could ring us right away… Yes… Indeed… Thank you. Good bye.”

\---

Benny smiled as Ephraim handed him a set of very soft, very definitely non-regulation pyjamas, before making an equally soft excuse and tactfully leaving him ‘to change and get into the cot’.

Benny smoothed the brushed cotton with his calloused hands and then on an impulse rubbed it against his cheek. It was a nugget of comfort, anachronistic amidst the scuffed institutionally brutal architecture of the jail, which surrounded prisoners wherever they went, even here, in the infirmary. He set them down on the corner of the bed.

He stared at Dean, who stared back at him in turn. Bass was shuffling from foot to foot, ever the teenage fish out of water in an adult skin.

“Bass?” Ephraim’s voice was muted through the door. “Could you come and give me a hand a moment?” He glanced first at Benny, then at Dean and hurried out of the room. There was a clatter as he knocked into something just outside the door, the sound of things falling and Bass muttering apologies muted as the door shut behind him. Dean rolled his eyes, but it had broken the tension and they laughed.

“It’s surprisingly comfortable,” Dean said quietly, nodding towards the hospital bed. “And Ephraim is actually good company. At least I think he is… I was a little out of it to start with…”

“I would have gladly taken your place, the intention was to get you out of harm’s way, not...get you in here.”

“The road to hell, Benny… It's not your fault. None of it. I'm just glad it's sorted. You're going home Benny. Back to Andrea. It's all over." Dean laughed, looking more like the carefree young man he should be and Benny wondered at how much he was referring to his own problems. He looked suddenly serious again. "You can call me… when you get out I mean, if you want… you know, I’ll understand if I’ll just be a reminder of this shit show, but I’d like… I mean… only if…”

Benny gripped his hand and shook it firmly. “Of course, I’ll call kid. Now get yourself gone and you make sure you look after yourself and this Cas. No more adventures for a while.”

Dean’s teeth flashed impossibly white, stark in a patchwork of blood, bruise and skin tones, even after being stitched, washed up and carefully dressed, he still looked… battered. He dropped his head, flexing his fingers around the back of his own neck, eventually flicking his eyes back onto Benny’s face. Ruefully, he nodded. “No more adventures. Sounds good.”

Somehow, Benny thought, I doubt he’ll manage it.

\---

Bass was waiting patiently outside the little cubicle while Dean changed back into his civvies. It felt strange to wear his own clothes. Everything seemed too comfortable, he had forgotten what it was like to wear clothes that didn’t harshly scratch at his skin. And his boots! After weeks in soft shoes, his feet felt impossibly heavy in his boots. He screwed the hateful jumpsuit up into a ball and threw the whole bundle of bloodstained orange fabric onto the floor.

Crowley had appeared only briefly and he had signed so many sheets of paper and documents his hand actually cramped around the pen. ‘His’ statement was short and sweet and Crowley gave him a copy of it to ‘enable him to refresh his memory’ should anyone ‘opt to interview’ him about it. He found himself quite liking the dapper little Brit, in spite of himself. Completely untrustworthy, machiavellian and utterly ruthless, but still likeable. Besides, Benny thought he was all right and Dean had to admit that was enough for Dean.

He stepped out of the cubicle and Bass almost jumped to attention, scanning Dean from head to toe and back again. Dean blushed under his appraising look, feeling weirdly shy and flustered under the barely disguised scrutiny. “Where’s your jumpsuit? I need to… erm… disappear it. Crowley’s orders.”

Dean pointed to it, balled on the floor. All the blood on it was a bit of a giveaway.

Bass handed him a small clear plastic bag containing his wallet, his cell, his keys and the other bits and bobs he had had in his pockets when he was arrested. He pressed the button on his phone experimentally, but unsurprisingly it was dodo like in its response.

And then, with little fanfare or fuss, they walked to the door: Bass shook his hand and Dean walked out into the sunshine, a free man.

\---

Sam stared at the phone in his hand. It felt hot in his hand, but then it had been working overtime. He had let it boost charge on the short drive to the jail, intending to power it up when he parked.  When the gate staff gave him the message to ring Kali urgently, his first thought was that something had happened to Dean. But then the gate staff wouldn’t have calmly given him a message about ringing the lawyer. He fumbled to turn on the cell, as he crawled at the prescribed 10 mph into the parking lot. It had started ringing almost immediately and a cursory glance at the screen full of missed call notifications was a less than subtle hint that something major was up. Gabe had pretty much chewed him a new one for forgetting to charge his phone and Jess had been very quiet, which was much, much worse. And now he was going to have to tell Dean...

The glint of the door caught his eye and Sam gripped the wheel. Dean stood in the sunshine, a small plastic bag gripped in one hand, looking about him. Despite everything else, Sam suddenly felt ten feet tall. God, it was good to see his dumbass brother. He climbed out of the car and waved.

\---

Sam was acting weird. They hadn’t seen each other for months before all this had blown up and Dean had expected; a hug. a healthy dose of bitch face. a lot of concerned questions about the state of his face. even maybe a lecture about getting into trouble. Not necessarily in that order. The hug had come. He’d braced himself for the pain. Even so he grunted as he was swamped in a tsunami of Sam Winchester.

But after that, Sam was suspiciously quiet. “Let’s get out of here.” That was all he said. No full on chick flick moment. No half-jokey, half-ticked off remarks. Just, “Let’s get out of here.”

Dean spotted the cable snaking out from the dashboard as he climbed into the passenger seat and for about the only time in his entire life was quite relieved to be sat in a modern car with it’s new-fangled electronics. You could buy conversion kits to put in old cars, but Dean would never sully Baby with anything so crassly useful as a USB port.

He watched the tiny charging bar climbing steadily. Impatient (he wasn’t going to admit it to Sam, but he couldn’t wait to hear Cas’ voice) the second it hit 6% he turned the phone on. He shifted in the passenger seat, Sam’s hugs were bone crushers on a normal day, but with the amount of bruising he was carrying, the pain had left him light-headed and slightly nauseous. His ribs still hadn’t quite forgiven him yet.

“You can quit watching me like a worried mother hen. Told you, s’just bruises.”

Sam’s lips pursed. He had carried that same look since he was old enough to have facial expressions. It was the same apprehensive look that signaled everything from the fact that he had eaten the last of the Lucky Charms to that time he had driven Dean’s Impala into a fence post.

“All right, Samantha, spit it out. What did you do?” 

Sam gripped the wheel a little tighter, but still didn't speak. Luckily for him Dean’s phone began to ping. Message notification upon notification. He stared at it. They were almost all from one number. He flicked onto the conversation, it opened at the first unread message and he smiled. Cas had been sending him messages every day.

_I can’t talk to you, but this feels better than imagining conversations in my head. Besides, they always seem to end up going somewhere else ;-)_

Dirty little pervert, Dean chuckled. On and on the messages continued. Snippets of his day. Everything from burning his tongue on his coffee to observations about the people he was meeting. Entranced, Dean scrolled on. He would read them and then ask Sam to pull up so he could have a little privacy when he made his call.

_...got myself so worked up, forgot to eat, walked into a room full of people and full on swooned. Fainted, right into your brother’s arms. Some first impression that must have made..._

_...really like them. Sam and Jess. And your nephew is beautiful. So beautiful. He threw up down Sam this morning. I think maybe he is avenging you for all the times Sam did things like that to you..._

_…you know I don’t think Gabe has changed a bit. I can’t wait for you to see this place. It’s not quite on the same level as the Nauti hotel! But he has called this place Casa Nova. Casa fucking Nova!..._

_...I thought Bass was going to wet himself. When I found out about the taser I wanted to strangle him with my bare hands… but I think Marcy terrorising him was much, much worse than anything I could do..._

_...I miss you… so much..._

Sam was slowing as they approached the gatehouse. A couple of cars were coming in the opposite direction. He jumped as Dean suddenly thrust the phone under his nose.  Stabbing his finger so hard into the screen that his finger flexed backwards under the pressure and the joint shone white. The last message from Cas.

“ _Please forgive me...I love you...  Completely...  Totally...   And I’m sorry if I don’t get to say it that I didn’t take my chance before,_ ” he practically hissed the words as he read the message out. “What does he mean Sammy? Why is Cas saying he’s sorry? Why isn’t he gonna get the chance to tell me in person. What do I have to forgive? What the fuck has he done? Where’s Cas, Sammy? Where is he?”

“Dean, calm down.” Sam looked about him in alarm. “You’ve been out about 30 seconds. At least wait until we’re out of the complex before you throw a meltdown!”

“WHERE IS HE, SAM?”

“Just let us get past the gate house,” Sam growled through his teeth.  “Dean, for the love of God, just wait another couple of minutes and I promise I’ll tell you everything I know.”


	34. Chapter 34

 

They hid the Lexus from the road by driving it into a small ravine. Even once the day broke, you would have to be standing at the entrance some 100 yards off the road or have happened to walk up the steep slope over the top of it before you would even catch a glimpse of its sleek purple paintwork, spattered with the orange dust of the desert sand. Ecclesiastical purple and pagan orange, Cas thought idly. Angels on a mission to stop a devil, how appropriate.

The ravine was so narrow he had to crawl out through the tailgate. He straightened and dusted his hands on the black cargo pants. Feeling somewhat guilty he detached all the additional keys and the kitchest of heart-shaped keyfobs. If he got out of this he was going to buy Kali the biggest bunch of flowers he could find to make up for betraying her hospitality this way. But the last thing they needed at the moment was a set of jangling keys giving away their movements, so he dropped the whole jangling ensemble into the trunk before he dropped it shut. He folded the metal key into the plastic and blipped the central locking. Three brief flashes of orange were wasted on the rock walls and the blip sounded weirdly hollow, almost as if it were underwater.

“We should have reversed it in.” Michael kept his voice low in the darkness. “A quicker getaway.”

“If it all goes to plan,” Cas replied, equally quietly, “We won’t need a getaway, quick or otherwise. Besides… how would I have got out?” He passed the key to Michael who put it into one of the pockets of his cargo pants and pressed the popper shut.

“Good point.”

\---

The night before they had talked themselves round in circles in the quiet of Cas’ hotel suite as they planned what to do. Meg had not known the name or location of Gabe’s hotel, only that one existed, so even if she had been forced to betray him, she had nothing to tell Raph that he didn’t already know from taking her phone. Cas was with Gabe in a hotel somewhere in Vegas. Vegas was full of hotels.

“Raph is so arrogant he would never think Gabe capable of running a hotel, let alone one on the strip. He’ll expect him to be in some dive on the back streets. And Gabe certainly made himself pretty impossible to trace.”

“Sam found him.” Cas had said grimly.

“Yes. He did. But there’s nothing in Adler’s files about Gabe. Despite what Raph promised Father, _promised me, too_ , they made no real attempt to find him and Adler has been too busy since running around the country to concentrate on tracking him down. I also think it’s safe to assume Raphael is running low on henchmen.”

Tense as he was, Cas couldn’t help but chuckle at his serious brother’s choice of terminology. “He’s not some Bond villain, Michael.”

Michael had grinned ruefully for a second, “Like you watch Bond movies!” His face became serious again. “There were two others with Adler when they took you, correct?”

Cas nodded. “And Roman. Don’t forget Roman.”

“So we _know_ he has four… accomplices. At least one of whom is dead. For definite. Your amazing gas station lady saw to that. So that leaves him with three, maximum. And the FBI agent, he said witnesses thought the big black guy was hit. So maybe he only has two left...”

Cas’ sigh was exasperated. “He could be using all sorts of low lifes for hire, Michael. It’s not like he doesn’t have the money...”

“That’s just not Raph’s style, Cassie. He’s too controlling to risk using anyone he doesn’t own. Besides, hiring ‘low life’s’ isn’t that easy. We’re not mafiosi… big well-known family like ours, it would be impossible to keep a lot of those kinds of connections quiet.”

“OK, so assuming he doesn’t have a private army, chances are he’s not been watching us and has no idea where you are… so he isn’t playing you, he genuinely assumes you think that I am there with Meg, under his control.”

“Uhuh, as far as Raph is concerned, I think he has _you_ and Meg and I am alone, trying to deal with all this. He utterly underestimates me. Always has. So we have the advantage in many ways. And he’s desperate, Cassie. I know his tells. He was so stressed, I could hear it in his voice. Now he knows they exist he wants those files back and he thought he had Adler totally under his control… and now he knows he doesn’t. Even while he’s not entirely sure what’s in them, he knows if Anna’s files get to the authorities it’s all over. He still thinks he can come out of this intact. When he finds out it’s too late, he has nothing to gain by killing any of us. That’s when the offer of a way out will be irresistible to him. He’s a cold bastard, but he’s pragmatic to his core… if we offer him an escape route, he’ll take it.”

Cas had not been so sure. Even after they had spent two or three hours carefully planning what to do he was still not convinced. And even now they were about to put the plans into action, he still was not so sure. They had all listened to Raph coldly euthanising their father and ordering the death of his brother as calmly as if he were simply giving instructions to redecorate the offices. But then maybe Cas had an even more personal appreciation of just what a cold bastard Raphael could be, after all, it was not Michael who had fought for his life, pinned to the kitchen floor listening to Raphael, while he looked on, dispassionately ordering his disappearance.

\--

A half-moon worked, appropriately enough, half in their favour and half against. It made it easier to move through the dusty scrub, but it would also make them easier to spot. If, of course, anyone was actually keeping watch. The sprawl of low-level buildings looked dishevelled. If it weren’t for the spill of light across the dirt of the basin, throwing sharp angular shadows and long radiating stripes of deep indigo as it hit stones and boulders, it would only need a few rolling tumbleweeds to look utterly abandoned.

Aside from the occasional night call of the local wildlife the only sound at this distance was the gentle drone of a generator. Cas and Michael half lay, using an outcrop of rock as a lookout post. From their vantage point, they could make out the silhouette of two vehicles, parked on a dirty strip of flat top in front of a row of single door units. A vend and ice machine loomed darkly empty beside a doorway marked with a sign. Probably the reception, although the wording was unreadable under a layer of grime and dirt. Michael passed a set of binoculars to Cas and pointed to a separate building, slightly set back and behind the main sprawl.

“I think that’s the room with the generator. We shouldn’t be able to hear it. Normally, even a place like this, it would be soundproofed. Broken window, look.” Cas raised the glass to where Michael had pointed. He nodded. He scanned the other units. Only one was lit. “You think they’re all in that one suite?” Michael added.

Cas chuckled, thinking of the motels he and Dean had used in their road trip across the country. “Your privilege is showing big brother… try ‘room.’ No way this place has ‘suites’. Makes sense though. Easier to keep an eye on the ‘hostage’ if you all stay together.”

“Room, then,” Michael grumbled. “Two cars. That is Raph’s jag. Just the two of them with Adler in the other you think?”

“No guarantee they were on their own in their vehicles…”

“Old ground Cas. We need to get closer. We only have a couple of hours until dawn. We need you in position and me out of here by daybreak. That diner” he was referring to the intended meeting point for his conversation with Raph “is only… what… half an hour from here? That gives you all morning to observe until Raph leaves Adler here alone.”

\---

“Dean! Put the damn phone down…” Sam pulled a classic bitch face, as he tried to bat the phone away from Dean’s hand, drive the car and look nonchalant at the guard peering at them from the gatehouse. “Cas left his own phone behind, Dean!”

He could hear the tinny sound of ringing even without loudspeaker and the unmistakable intonation of Gabe’s voice as he answered it. “Deano, that you?”

“Deano?” His brother’s voice chimed irritation. “Where the fuck is Cas?”

“Ah. That is the million dollar question, we all want the answer to, Kansas.”

Sam winced. These two were definitely not getting off on the right foot. Sam opened his window to speak to the guard who had waved him down, shooting Dean a warning look.

\---

Sam pulled the car off the road onto a small dirt track opposite the only turning towards the prison complex, Dean had set his phone on the dash on speaker and was barely hanging onto his temper. “So what you’re telling me is that you left him on his own...”

“He wasn’t on his own, he was with Michael…” Gabe was raising his own voice.

“I spent weeks tracking across the country to get him to you, so he would be safe and you didn’t protect him at all, you let Michael… take him off… Michael… the man who has let Cas be tied to his own bed for weeks on end. Michael who for all we know is in cahoots with Raphael…”

“Michael is not in ‘cahoots’ with anyone except us… and who says ‘cahoots’ anyway. What are you Fred and Daphne’s love spawn? We’ve tracked them as far as a one horse, two street called Cold Creek and our little friend Charlie is busy tracking down every and any possible leads…”

“...none of which would be necessary, if you’d just kept your damn eye on him… You know how he feels about Meg and Bal, he’s so fucking loyal he’d do anything for any of you… and speaking of Bal just what was he doing while all this was going down?” He punched the dash with his closed fist, and Sam winced, half expecting the hiss of an airbag. But the only hiss was Dean’s voice, which had dropped to the kind of harsh whisper that Sam knew from bitter experience was far more ominous and dangerous than shouting. “Was abandoning him as a kid, not enough of a way to fail him?… did you have to go and do one better as an adult?...What the fuck were you thinking letting him...”

“Dean!” Sam protested sharply. “Gabe didn’t _let_ Cas do anything. He’s his own man and you know that!”

“What I know,” Dean snapped. “Is that I should never have let myself get arrested because no-one else seems to be capable of...”

And there it was. Sam laid a hand on his brother’s arm. “Enough Dean. This is not your fault. Nor Gabe’s, nor Bal’s. If you wanna blame someone blame Raphael. Everyone is doing everything they can… besides…” he peered across at the entrance to the prison. “I think part of the solution may be about to present itself…”

\---

Crowley scratched at his beard and pulled his vest straight. He was thoroughly enjoying himself, which was odd. Decidedly odd, when he thought about the amount of paperwork he had just spent the morning completing and the fact that he’d had to make his own tea. He had even foregone the pleasure of watching Dick Roman sweating out the morning in the interview rooms on the CCTV, preferring to ensure that he had his house in order for the inevitable invasion by various authorities when the ‘jailbreak’ was investigated.

The good doctor’s dishevelled appearance when he finally checked the screens had more than made up for it. Roman was leaning, elbows on thighs as he sat in one of the ‘comfortable’ tub chairs. His formerly well-pressed pants crumpled in unattractive folds at knees and hips, his jacket discarded, his tie removed, and the expensive looking cotton shirt rolled to the elbows and three buttons open at the neck.

His skin blotched with heat, hair lank to his forehead and a vaguely yellowish sheen of sweat finished the deeply satisfying image. Crowley chuckled. Time to pass on the good news. He checked his watch just to be sure, 148 minutes spent waiting in near-tropical heat, with only lukewarm water to drink: Utterly fruitless. Dean Winchester, far from being ready for ‘psychiatric’ assessment, was already free as a bird.

Yes, he was definitely going to enjoy this, Crowley thought as he pulled the door open and the moist, sweat-laden atmosphere of the room hit him like a wall.

Fifteen minutes later, a thoroughly frustrated Dr. Dick Roman was signing himself out. Crowley watched from the reception as he clumped away on his crutches across the car park, every movement giving away his intense irritation.

\---

The diner was busy. It’s popularity fourfold. It was cheap. It was clean. The food was good and most significantly, it was the only stop on an otherwise barren, dust blasted stretch of highway for over three hours of solid driving.

Michael stretched his arms, pushing his back into the soft leather seats of the Lexus. He had been waiting for approximately one hour, inside his luxury cocoon. The parking lot had thinned out quite a bit since he had arrived as the morning travellers finished up their breakfasts and carried on with their journeys. He idly watched a family making their way back to their truck. The couple strolling hand in hand, a little girl trailing alongside them, no more than four or five, a bedraggled stuffed rabbit under one arm, resolutely sucking her thumb. A toddler hitched onto one of the women's hip. After carefully strapping the kids in, they crossed at the back of the vehicle, the casual choreography of an often repeated motion; they paused briefly to snatch a kiss and let their hands linger momentarily on a shoulder and a waist as they parted.  Michael could not help but smile at the tender normality of it. He sighed and let his eyes slide closed briefly.

One of the women looked like Meg.

The cell phone he had purchased from a vending machine in the shopping mall gave a little trilling beep, rudely yanking him back to the here and now.

Further instructions from Raphael, he presumed. He glanced at it. Dream on, big brother. No way he was just leaving this harddrive in the restroom and walking away. He typed in his own response.

I NEED TO KNOW THEY ARE BOTH OK

The response was swift. A simple repeat of the previous instruction.

NOT WITHOUT PROOF, he sent back.

He waited patiently. This would be annoying the control freak into a frenzy, but he would be expecting it, surely. Afterall, as Raphael would see it, this was Michael’s only logical move. How else would Michael be sure that Raph even had his prisoners ready to be let go?

He let the cell ring three times before he answered it.


	35. Chapter 35

Victor smiled at Mills as she spoke into the phone. She was one impressive lady. And he was beginning to appreciate that it wasn’t just him who would find it hard to say ‘no’ to just about any favour she asked.

He stood slowly and made his way from her dining table, still covered in their papers and the contents of the Winchester files. He swilled their mugs in the sink and refreshed them with coffee.

“Thanks. I owe you… yeah, it’s a deal, but we go dutch, OK?... you, too. Bye.”

Jody ran her fingers through her hair and dropped back with a sigh, smiling as she saw the steaming mug heading her way. “Well, that’s it. Tomorrow, we have a visitation order in place. I guess we just better hope he’s willing to talk to us.”

\---

The heat bouncing back from the ground was every bit as intense as the heat beating down on his head, as Cas moved cautiously towards the motel. To start with there had been no sign of any movement and he had begun to wonder if they had misread the situation, but then he had heard the sound of doors slamming and a voice, Raphael’s voice to be exact, raised in tension. Not shouting, but certainly giving orders. It was risky, antagonising him, but they needed to know if Meg was actually here and requesting proof of life, would at least force his hand.

He had carried on watching all morning, all the activity based around the Reception area and the room adjacent to it. He had only seen two of them. Adler and Raphael and they only used the two rooms. Michael’s text was clear, he had been sent a low-quality image of Meg and another figure in the darkness. Realistic enough to scare Michael for a moment into thinking that Raphael had grabbed him somehow, so that once he had arranged to make the swap, Cas had had to send a series of coded text messages to convince Michael that all was still going to plan and he was still watching Adler from the safety of his hidey-hole. That was at least 45 minutes ago. At least 25 minutes, now, since Cas had heard the tell-tale sounds of a car door slamming, even over the noise of the generator. At least 25 minutes since he had watched the tell-tale rise of dust in the air over the building. He could not see which vehicle it was leaving, or indeed who was in it, positioned as he was behind the motel, with the outhouse containing the generator behind him and stucco back wall ahead of him. But he had seen the glint of the rising sun reflecting off the glass and metal as one of the cars disappeared in the distance around the curve of the canyon road.

He checked his watch. It was time to move, he had only a few more minutes to be in position - behind the vending machine. He edged closer, the steady drone of the generator hiding his soft footfalls completely. Over the last few months, he had learnt how to deal with adrenaline, but he doubted he would ever get entirely used to feeling his own heart pounding in his throat. He flexed his fingers and wiped a forearm through the sweat on his forehead, moving quickly and quietly to press his back against the wall and creep along its length, dropping down to sneak past the only window that faced out toward the back of the motel.

The most dangerous part was yet to come, he had to pass in front of the reception and slot himself behind the vending machine, he made it with mere seconds to spare, as with a stuttering groan the generator cut out, leaving only the background noise of the desert and the whine of the hot wind to break the silence.

He heard the click of the hotel door opening and held his breath as the dark walking shadow slid along the ground and the wall towards him and then swept on past. He caught a tiny glimpse from the corner of his eye, momentarily black against the backdrop of the desert in the few inches between the vending machine and the wall. He counted an agonising 15 elephants before he let himself move, peeking around the corner to see a wisp of the desert dust swirling back around the corner. Echoing weirdly in the relative silence, he could hear the delicate sound of the stones and grit shifting under someone else’s feet. Silently blowing out a quick breath in relief, he crept toward the door of the room beside reception and gently pushed it open.

It was dark inside, they had kept the blinds down and with the generator out there was no light inside. It was, however, still pleasantly cool in comparison to the arid desert air. His own shadow stretched ahead of him across the carpet, the light spilling around him fell across the foot of a king size bed and in the contrasting gloom he could just make out a table and chairs, cluttered with pizza boxes and bottles of soft drinks. He stepped into the room and slid to one side, maximising the illumination into the room and waiting for his eyes to adjust to the available light. He resisted the urge to call out for Meg, listening carefully for any sounds that might indicate whether she was in this room, or what he suspected was the bathroom beyond. His own blood was swooshing in his ears, but that didn’t stop him hearing the weird echoes of sounds outside or the disgruntled tick of the now powerless air conditioning unit’s internal parts.

\---

Adler had the uncomfortable feeling that he was not in full possession of all the facts. His boss had been in a weird mood since he had arrived and his behaviour today was doing nothing to reassure Adler that all was well. He had not fully explained exactly what his aim was, other than to lure Michael here and to find a way of dealing with Castiel and the danger he posed.

He suspected that Raphael was allowing Michael to think they still had the ‘little shit’ in their possession, affirmed by their little bit of cosplay earlier. He was mildly relieved when Raphael announced he was going to meet with Michael, taking Adler’s car to be less conspicuous. His boss had requested a firearm and he had done well to hide his surprise, never once in all his dealings with the man had Adler ever known him to get his hands that kind of dirty.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to go if you need that kind of … erm…?” He blanched under the scrutiny of a gaze that would have superman reaching for shades. And then Angel was gone. The kickback of dust gradually dropping back into the desert landscape like a settling of powdered snow.

Adler settled back into the big comfortable desk chair behind reception, letting it recline so that he could see the doorway and the terrain beyond over the top of his dress shoes, propped on the counter for balance.

He fanned himself with an ancient, faded pamphlet on a nearby nature reserve he had found in the motel welcome book, resisting the urge to pick at the skin of his palms. The soporific drone of the generator was only partially counteracted by the occasional whine of the aircon unit as it drifted cool air across the room and he knew he was dozing, but couldn’t find the will to fight it. Really, truly, who the hell would have a clue where they were?

Adler jumped awake so violently that his feet fell off the counter, his heels striking the floor with a painful jolt. Disorientated, his mind stumbled and wobbled to the reason. Silence. It rang in his ears, desensitised by the harmonic drone, gradually the insect noise and whistle of air currents over the hot ground replaced the swoosh in his ears. The generator had cut out. Cursing mildly, he straightened his jacket and stood up. He had checked the tank on his arrival, it shouldn’t have run out of fuel. He grabbed the pack of hand wipes from the counter and squinted into the brilliance of the desert.

The heat enveloped him as he stepped into it. Shading his eyes to check left and right, squinting until his eyes began to adjust. Something was off. He could feel it. Keeping his demeanour casual, he walked carefully around the corner of the building, using his shades to cover the darting movement of his eyes as he scoped his surroundings.

He smiled to himself. He hadn’t survived this long without being one of the best. Without check to his stride, he cleared the corner of the building, plodding toward the outhouse as if it were his only focus, letting his hand settle onto the hard surface of the barrel grip as he quietly checked his holster.

\---

Cas swore to himself, not daring to make a noise out loud, he screamed his frustration inside his own head. The room was empty, there was no sign of Meg, or even any indication that she had ever been here. He checked his phone again, the eerie facsimile of moonlight from the screen illuminating his face in the darkness. The image forwarded to him by Michael. Meg, clearly recognisable despite the heavy facial bruising, and another less distinct figure propped side by side against a buttoned headboard in a darkened motel room, so much like this one it could be no coincidence. The headboard, the swirling pattern of the wallpaper, the soft camel of the counterpane beneath them, the dark wood furniture: It all matched. Now Michael was facing Raphael and Cas had to find Meg in the short window that meeting had bought him.

But she wasn’t here. Where the fuck was she… he checked the phone again, he had minutes left, if that, before Adler came back. He sent a quick message to Michael. It was time for plan B.

The image of Dean’s face, dimpled with disapproval, swam into his mind unbidden and with a deeply reluctant sigh, he pushed the phone under the edge of the bed before he could succumb to the temptation to use the number emblazoned in his memory. He stared at his feet, it was no good. The temptation was too strong, he retrieved it swiftly, let his fingers fly over the keys and pressed send. He didn't have time to dither like some parody of a teen rom-com. The available light dipped and he turned to see a dark silhouette casting its long shadow toward him across the disgusting motel carpet. Using the twist of his body as a shield he let the phone drop to the floor, the flick of his heel kicking it under the bed.

\---

The diner was exactly like any other. One long sweeping stretch of counter and a neat row of booths, shining red banquettes and speckled formica tables like piano keys all the way to the far wall. A single bright neon sign on the back wall proclaiming the hotness and freshness of the coffee. Chalkboards scrawled with specials. It was clean. The curiously mixed scent of sweet and savoury, combining with the rich aroma from the filter machine. Michael nursed his own mug of coffee, sitting with his back to the door in the far booth as instructed. Even in the cool air he could feel the prickle of sweat on his neck and he fought every instinct to turn around and look as someone approached his table. He raised his head slowly from his coffee, staring at the man who sat down opposite him.

For a brief moment they simply stared at each other. Then Michael’s phone beeped then rang. He opened the picture message and then swiped the curl of green across the screen to accept the call, but did not speak, working hard not to let the dismay show on his face as he looked at the image on the screen. “Oh, Michael, dear brother. Strategy never has been your strong suit has it,” Raphael said, his voice softly triumphant.


	36. Chapter 36

 

Amy smiled at the two young women, limbs haphazardly entwined as they lay together dozing on one of the sofas in the staff kitchen beside the comms room. It was a travesty to disturb them, but whilst she was fairly certain she could accomplish her latest idea alone given time, they didn’t have it. 

Gently she pushed a lock of red hair aside and shook Charlie’s shoulder. “...clownfish are highly under…” A pair of grey-green eyes blinked up at her. “...rated…” The dream cleared to lucidity and Charlie wiped at her mouth a little self-consciously. “S’up?”

“I need your help, Charlie. You think if I get us access to the database you can do an asset search on all Angel Inc’s holdings?”

Charlie nodded, brow pinching. Beside her, Kasia stirred and flexed a delicate hand a little tighter into Charlie’s hoodie. 

“Let her sleep,” Amy said softly. “We have work to do.”

\----

Adler decided not to risk leaving the little shit alone in the room while he attempted to restart the generator and without the steady intervention of the air conditioning the heat was building steadily. The sweat beading on his skin was just beginning to form critical mass and he could feel the first trickles down the hollows of his spine. 

Castiel Angel appeared irritatingly calm, had been even when Adler had caught him, standing in the middle of the dark motel room. He had just raised his arms and slowly turned around. “Hello, Adler.” His tone so insolent it had taken substantial self-control not to close the space between them and pistol whip him to the ground. But that would require shifting a dead weight. And other than his tone, he had been the picture of obedience, moving with easy grace, seemingly completely relaxed. He was now sitting on the floor in the Reception area, hands in plain sight, lower arms balanced on his folded knees. He looked for all the world as if he were meditating in a yoga class. Eyes closed, head resting back against the wall behind him. Adler was not fooled. This Angel brother had shown himself to be a clever, resourceful little fucker and Adler had no intention of being suckered again. He scratched his right palm absentmindedly against the edge of the chair beneath him. 

Imagining the tranquil, placid look on Angel’s face beaten into something more bloodied and pained was a pleasant fantasy. He flexed his fingers around the butt of his weapon and stood carefully, stretching his legs and arms individually, never once letting his attention slip and keeping his aim steady. The movement stirred the little shit, his blue gaze, watchful, his expression inscrutable. Adler wanted so badly to smash his fist into it. Maybe when Raphael Angel returned he would be allowed a little retribution as a reward for capturing him. He glanced quickly at the clear simple face of his Bremont watch, shifting his shoulders, his shirt was catching and sticking to his moist skin: He could feel the damp ovals stretching down the overlocked cotton side seams under his arms.

“You know they have these 48-hour deodorants now…” the blue eyes were closed again, the face serene, only a slight smirking curl to the lips spoiling the angelic appearance. “They’re very effective for men with body odour issues.”

Adler narrowed his eyes. He was more than capable of withstanding such juvenile provocation, but the lack of fear was perturbing. Why wasn’t the little shit afraid? He should be. He should be at the very least anxious. Dammit, he didn’t even appear to be sweating in the heat.

“Do you like frogs, Adler?”

Frogs? Adler was seriously beginning to regret his decision not to fetch the duct tape and zip ties from his car before he pulled his gun on the little shit. 

“I like frogs. They’re fascinating little creatures.” 

He hadn’t moved, hadn’t opened his eyes. Adler pursed his lips, tempted to tell him to shut up, but unwilling to give away just how irritating he found him. 

“You know, if you put a frog in boiling water it hops right out,” the little shit continued pleasantly, for all the world as if he were chatting to a friend, “But if you put it in cool water and then gradually turn up the heat… well that poor little amphibian, it will just keep swimming around and around, until…” he raised his head and Adler was skewered with a look so sharp that he involuntarily gasped. “... it’s far too late and it’s flesh just falls away from it’s bones.” The smirk widened into a wide knowing smile and Adler swallowed uncomfortably. “Imagine that,” the eyes slid closed again, but the smug look remained. “Imagine that poor dumb little frog, congratulating itself for being so clever... swimming around in that big old pan of water it’s been given, feeling all thankful and happy with it’s lot in life. All the while it’s getting hotter and hotter, completely oblivious to the mess it’s in.”

Adler drew a deep steadying breath, while he was sure he wasn’t being observed. He sure as hell wasn’t going to show any signs of weakness. Honestly, he had been working for Raphael Angel for so long, these childish mind games were kindergarten stuff by comparison. Still, Adler was beginning to suspect that maybe this little shit was far more like his elder brother than anyone had previously realised. 

\---

 

The temperature in the room had been steadily climbing, the smell of Adler’s discomfort overpowering the cloying fragrance he wore: Adler, despite his best efforts to hide it, was a bag of nerves. 

Cross-legged, head resting against the wall, eyes closed, Cas was surprising himself. He rode the success of his performance, his anxiety locked down tight as the illusion of confidence began to harden into reality. “Fake it til you make it, Clarence,” as Meg would say. The sudden thought of her caused an anxiety spike that sent his pulse racing. Quite the opposite of what he was trying to achieve. He concentrated on his own breathing, hyper-aware of his surroundings. He had to stay focused.

The sound of window blind slats snapping back into position sounded like firecrackers in the muggy quiet of the room. Cas opened his eyes but made no other attempt at movement. Adler was stood against the window with his scarred hands still entangled in the slats. When Cas blinked he could see the echo of Adler’s silhouette against a striped background, where it had burnt into his retinas. Listening carefully he could just make out the unmistakable sounds of a vehicle engine, initially distant, but steadily growing louder. 

With a quick, but exaggeratedly nonchalant glance towards him ( _ who _ did the fool think he was kidding) Adler moved towards the door, unlocking it with a quick twist of his wrist. From outside a waft of heat carried the grumble of the gritty surface giving under the press of wheels and the rattle of fine gravelly stones pummelling the landscape, it shifted into the soft sing of tyres rolling over the blacktop for a snippet before the vehicle drew to a halt. The engine noise died away, a single car door opened and closed with an expensive sounding soft clunk followed by footsteps, gritty, like a movie sound effect. Slices of a shadowy figure slid along the gaps between the blind slats and then Adler was stepping back away from the door he had just swung open, his head turning back towards Castiel, grey eyes sharp above a vicious smirk. 

Raphael dropped a small holdall to the floor, a collection of cable ties and a roll of duct tape visible through the gaping zipper. “Smile for Michael, Cassie, there’s a good boy,” he mocked and Cas blinked against the phone flash.

“Stand up,” Adler snarled. “Arms forward.”

Cas rose in one steady movement straight from the cross-legged position to his feet, as Adler clicked the safety on and placed his gun on the desk behind him. He stooped to collect the cable ties from the bag, looping two zip ties together with a third and Cas barely managed to avoid wincing at the sharp pinch as they rasped tight around his wrists, silently congratulating himself at the disappointment on the bastard’s face at his lack of reaction, until Adler’s fist hit him, just below his ribs, hard enough to knock the air from his lungs and the balance from his legs. He fell back, head clashing with the outer block-built wall and collapsed to the carpet, bright circles and overlying patterns forming a bursting kaleidoscope in his vision, ears burning and humming, until a shattering crack and bright white flare bloomed in front of him. The last thing he saw clearly as it all faded away was Raphael's cold smile.


End file.
